Auto In
by goldnox
Summary: AU/AH /Life is wonderfully uncomplicated for Damon Salvatore. Take accident claims as a call center rep by day, charm his way into a new bed each night. Go to work, drink with friends, sex. Simple and straightforward and fun. Until a coworker, Elena Gilbert, makes him question whether some things are worth changing for. But is he the only one who needs to let go of a previous life?
1. Buttons I Press

**A/N: Sooooo...I know I said in the last chapter of With Eyes Wide Open that I was going to put this up next week but...I COULDN'T WAIT! Okay you guys, here it is: my first ever AU/AH and I'm SO nervous and SO excited and this is gonna be all a little new for me so hang with me please. I cannot thank you enough for your support and excitement! Oh, and we're in Damon POV, because that boy has been LOUD lately. **

**This was beta'd with overwhelming encouragement and passing to her husband for further gushing and embarrassment by Trogdor19, who I love like no one else. **

**Enjoy!**

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**Chapter 1: Buttons I Press**

I hate my apartment.

I hate my bank statement.

I hate my boss, most days.

My mom's okay, when she's not swinging between some version of a nagging, hugging, overly-affectionate mound of cotton-candy fluff and a real life version of the Red Queen from Alice in Wonderland because menopause is a wicked, bipolar bitch. And Dad? What Dad? Thanks to being the product of a behind-the-gas-station sperm donor, in the classy words of my mother when I was eleven years old, I burst into being with three shots of tequila and her encounter with a mysterious sexy wizard behind the Gas-N-Go. Thanks, Mom.

At least whoever the guy was, he had some looks going for him. I know this because I look nothing like my mother. She's blond, my hair is black. Her eyes are brown, mine are the lightest shade of blue that's ever been captured on digital record. She's a stout 5'1, and I clock in at a cut and lean 6'0, if I'm not swaggering, which I always am. So no father-son football memories to fall back on, but at least I'm hot. And for that, I tip my hat to you, Pops. Wherever the douchebag may be.

I don't really care. As far as I'm concerned there are only two things in this world worth giving a damn about.

The first one? My car. She's a '69 Dodge Charger R/T HEMI. Like the beast from Bullitt, the mother fucking General Lee, but I repainted her in such a deep shade of forest green that the moment the sun hides from her eight cylinders and all 425 horses, she becomes a black dragon that screams for anyone to dare her to a fight. And my girl always wins.

I found her wilting away in a junkyard when I was 17, begging to come home with me. And I don't believe in love at first sight, but she is the one exception and if I could marry my car, I would. After seven years and every single penny I could scrape together to restore her piece by expensive piece, Faora is now _perfect._

And yes, naming my car that does make me Zod, the villain from Superman. Because she is loyal to me alone, and her history as a man-hater is spot on. She is rocking many advanced degrees in the ability to attract girls like a Venus fly trap, which she does oh so well, while wrenching infinite jealousy out of all the other suckers that are driving their adorable little Toyotas and end up leaving the bars _alone_. Their fault though, because it took me a grand total of three seconds after starting High School to figure out that the louder your engine roars, the faster the chicks flock. Get a brain, dipshits. Or at least a HEMI.

And that brings me to my second love.

Women.

I love them and they love me, at least between the hours of ten P.M. and four A.M. And you can bet your frozen yogurt that my bed stays empty because _no one_ is coming back to my crappy little economy sized apartment that I wouldn't show off to a hobo. But each night's Pick-Me-Up Princess throws open the castle's front door for me, and that works pretty well in my book.

Two drinks and a smirk, drive them back to their place, and Faora takes care of their first climax while they're buckled in my passenger seat. _I_ will happily take care of their next couple of rounds while we're in their girly bedroom complete with purple flower IKEA artwork and eight thousand pictures of them and their besties on Spring Break. But once they're too tired to ask for my phone number, I get to go home where no one bothers me. Hooray! No one asks me if they look pretty or whether I want to watch this sappy show or that one, no spinach salad or sushi debates because it's whatever_ I_ fucking want.

Thank you, and good night.

By the way, yes, I know I'm a prick. A womanizer who is the nightmare of fathers all over the world. Well guess what, Daddy? Your little angel is the one pushing her lace-clad breasts into _my_ face, _and_ using those ten years of ballet lessons you paid for to give me a world-class lap dance in the apartment she decorated with your MasterCard. My sincerest gratitude.

But karma is a dirty skank, so I try to make up for it at work. Yeah, that's really not even true; it just works out that way.

I fell into a job that my buddy, Ric, got me hooked up with. He'd worked there for a couple of years and when I got hired, he got a check for getting me in the door. Sweet for him. Selling point for me? No drug tests. And at the time, that was a huge bonus. So I flirted my way through a phone interview and two more in person and got my fancy-schmancy headset and a six week course on taking auto accident claims, and voila! I now get paid to sit in a cubicle and talk to people about car wrecks for forty hours a week.

The pay is decent, but it's all spent on rent and gas and overpriced drinks and a wardrobe that I maintain so I can work my way into the ones worn by the opposite sex. And working at a call center is life-draining most of the time, but at other times it can be pretty cool.

Don't get me wrong, I hate having the same conversation eighty-six times a day. For instance, I know that it takes me one minute and thirty-seven seconds to leave a voicemail with a phone number and claim number and hours of operation, repeated twice, because call center work is kind of like baseball. We count everything.

Four point two seconds between calls. Said calls should range somewhere between five minutes and forty-three seconds to the longer seven minutes and twenty-two. I have ninety-seven minutes of break time including my sixty minute lunch if I work a ten hour shift, with an additional ten minute buffer on standby if I need it.

Pay is clocked at quarter-hour intervals that round on the seventh minute, and overtime is always, always available at a gorgeous time and a half. When I come in, it should take me somewhere between three and seven minutes to get fully logged in with three different company-issued usernames and passwords on my eight different software systems before I hit the button of ultimate detest on the phone that rules the use of my debit card: Auto In. That's when the delightful consumers are automatically routed to me by our phone system because I am signaling to the IT gods that I am now ready to handle public interaction, and each new conversation/crisis is brought to my attention by two little beeps that some days feel like the crushing of my soul.

All inbound calls pool into one big bank and then trickle off into those of us that are on standby, but have more than three calls holding and the shit hits the fan. Wait time should never exceed twelve seconds or it's the goddamn apocalypse. For every twenty-five reps available you can afford to have five unavailable, so we can call out to someone or smoke a cigarette or just beat your head against your fucking desk.

At least the insurance company I work for knows our job is a bucket of shit the majority of the time so they try to make up for it any way they can. Dress code equals a politely hinted: Please Be Dressed. The building is bright and decorated like they handed a checkbook to someone tripping on acid, and the cubicle walls are barely to my knees so everyone is talking and making jokes and bullshitting with everyone, all of the time.

There are more break rooms and couches to relax on than we could ever fill if every single person that worked there tried to occupy them at once, because I think Human Resources is waiting for someone to have a nervous breakdown and chose overdose by furniture as the way to combat it. Works pretty well too, because I've used them once or twice when the option was to throw my computer through a window or just close my eyes for five minutes and try to forget the prick that just called me a dickless drone. Also wasn't a bad idea to have an onsite café that will make you whatever you desire at any time of day, and is consistently better cooking than most restaurants with a four star rating.

The whole place is pretty much just a loud school cafeteria, people swinging by your desk every fifteen minutes while munching on something that smells incredible to joke with you about this game or that movie and what you did last night or _who_ you did. Bosses that graduated five seconds before you and all they want to know is where you bought that hat and who is on your fantasy football draft. At least, when they're not asking why it takes you twenty minutes between starting your shift to hitting your Auto In button. Whoops.

But _maybe_ the ever growing time between me logging in and hitting the Auto In button has something to do with the fact that when I leave work and my cell phone rings, I accidentally answer it, "Claims reporting, this is Damon. How may I help you?" And then I die.

But, back to karma. Ninety percent of calls are no big deal. Light rear-end collisions on a jammed highway during rush hour traffic. Parking lot fender benders. Maybe vandalism. The occasional theft. Rare fires. I get the facts of the where and when and send them on their way. The next nine percent gets a little more attention worthy.

Multiple car collisions. Multiple injuries. Genius blew a light and t-boned a minivan on its way to the league championship soccer game and sent five kids to the hospital because the van got sent spinning into a pickup truck, head on. Two of the kids now have a broken arm, three of the five have concussions and I am talking to one terrified, crying mother who's on the side of the road watching kids that aren't _all _hers get loaded into an ambulance while a police officer asks where she wants to send her totalled car and she has no idea because her husband is out of town on business and she's never been in an accident before.

It can be a little stressful when you first start, when their panic bleeds over the phone lines and into your chest, and you feel like you're there with them on the side of the road. When I started, I never expected the nightmares and the paranoia, and Ric conveniently left that shit out because we're not girls that cry over _When Harry Met Sally._ But it didn't stop the endless dreams of car wrecks, directly translated from the claims I took. Ones that were so damn vivid it made me almost quit. Every intersection I approached, I was suddenly looking for that asshole that was going to run his red light and send me to the morgue.

It took a while, but eventually it went away, and that's imperative for me to be able to do my job.

Because once you can face their trauma and keep yourself detached, you can be the calm they need to cling to when they are completely lost. You take their fear, the giant mess they just got slammed with, place it on your shoulders for six minutes and forty-five seconds and repackage it all nice and organized and manageable, then give it back and then send them on their sniffly way.

Four point two seconds and then you do it again.

The whole thing is a little insane. And with how many times we have these conversations a_ day_, it can really fuck up your empathy levels since you get numb to the chaos. Because when you're talking to them, you're on that side of the road, but you're also in a brightly lit, crazily decorated building with three people around you debating whether in the new Lord of the Rings movie Gandalf should have just let the dwarves use the eagles the whole time and saved them a whole bunch of bullshit traveling. To which I hit the mute button on my headset and explain that if they did that, there wouldn't be a fucking movie and then I unmute, asking what hospital the fourth kid is going to.

The one percent calls are when everything stops. When I can no longer hear my coworkers comparing Facebook photos and when I stop trying to remember the name of the girl I was going down on last night while I'm typing in a policy number or an address.

Because the one percent is when they're dead.

"Fatalities" we call them. Thanks, management, but they're dead. Lawyer calls in because his client's daughter was killed by a drunk driver. Husband on the phone, wife was in a roll over. Daughter calls, her dad had a heart attack while stuck in traffic.

The one percent is when I'm my mother's son. I'm no longer looking to get drunk or laid or wondering when the new part for my car is going to come in. I'm just a faceless man that listens to you tell me over the phone all the stories of your deceased son or daughter, your best friend, and how excited they were to go on that trip that they're not going to make now. I'm the one whose voice drops to quiet and calming when I tell you to take your time and that if you need a minute, I'll hold. That way you can put the phone down and cry where you think I won't hear you, but I do. And when you come back, I pretend that I didn't.

They try not to cry when it's a relative, but they usually do. Sometimes they're numb because it's been a few weeks or they're calling on behalf of someone they're representing. But it doesn't matter because it's the first time I'm hearing it, and I don't care who you are: if any part of your psyche isn't permanently lodged in the Sociopath column, it hits you. And you never get used to it. Not when you have to get their names and hear how they died. Because they were real, and now they're…not.

But this is my _job_ and I have four point two seconds to recover after spending an extended twenty minutes talking to you, sharing a smile about the life your loved one lived and hearing you get choked up about the one they're going to miss. I have four point two seconds to pull it together after you let me in your family for twenty minutes, and then we say goodbye.

Four point two seconds, then two new beeps and a new voice, a new problem, a new version of me.

Joking with a customer about how their car always breaks down because it's a Ford and yeah I drive a Dodge and eat Hondas like they're made out of graham crackers. Listening to them berate me because they didn't pay their bill and there's nothing I can do about the asshole that busted out their windows. Talking like a speed addict because they're late for a meeting and they need to get this accident reported and off the damn phone after being on hold for so long. Trying to remember to be patient when the old lady wants to tell me all about her cats and how much they love the squirrels that live out of her bird feeder when all I need is the location of where she hit that mailbox, but her kids are grown and her husband passed away and she has no one to talk to and I can't hang up without getting fired so I'm fair game.

Four point two seconds between my two beeps to wonder what I'm going to get the next eighty-six times, four days a week.

I had a suicide once. Guy put a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger, and the woman from the tow company who reported the claim told me to make sure the inspector brought a hazmat suit. She didn't have to explain to me that it was because the guy's brains were all over the inside of the car, but I have to pass that message along. _Appropriately_. Because we are a Fortune 500 company and no one likes to see the words "Bring a smock for the brains because the interior of the car looks like the one from _Pulp Fiction_" in official documents that can be used in court proceedings. However, that sentence translated to a business-acceptable alternative? Not exactly part of my official training.

I practically have a degree in euphemisms now. I _also_ now understand why in my interviews they fired the weirdest questions at me at light speed and seemed to be very interested in how I answered. Can't do this shit and not be quick on your feet. There's no time to stumble or stutter, and you're supposed to be the professional who the mystery caller can trust to turn their mess of a reality into a something that can be summarized into pre-determined categories.

"_It was pouring rain outside and I was late for work and I'm not sure what happened but I think the guy in this blue sedan tapped his brakes and I was worried that the truck behind me was going to hit me but instead this girl in a red Camaro between me and the sedan hit her brakes because of the sedan and when I tried to stop, I slid because of the rain."_

Translation: Insured driver rear-ended claimant vehicle.

Next.

"_My girlfriend locked my keys in my car."_

Roadside Assistance.

Transfer call.

Next.

"_I need to report that my sister was killed in an accident last night…"_

Boom.

But it's a job. A job that pays my bar tabs and feeds my car gas and keeps me on Ramen noodles so I can afford the designer cologne that is some sort of a Pavlovian trigger for getting Class A blow jobs.

A job that I am currently on the verge of being late for.

Fuck.

I swipe my badge at the door and duck my way past the pack of smokers who are on their way out to take a break, half-jogging down the parallel cubicle aisles with everyone facing forward like we're in an oversized classroom, and earning a whole bunch of snickers from my peers who know they _all_ did the same damn thing when they got here and I'm finally at my desk.

My fingers fly over the phone as I log in with a whole bunch of numbers that tell my employer everything about me except for my condom preferences, and I'm officially on the clock with thirty-seven seconds to spare before I get marked for being late. Again.

Success.

"Shut up," I tell Ric, who sits across the aisle from me, but one desk back so he has a perfect view of the back of my head every single day. Lucky him.

"Wasn't gonna say anything," he smiles and continues his super busy morning of leaning as far back as possible in his chair, waiting for a call to come in.

I take out my keys and my phone and drop them in my top drawer, firing up my computer. The rest of my desk is bare apart from my desktop monitor and the phone of evil, and it makes my designated spot stick out like a sore thumb in the sea of disorder. Even Ric caved and hung up a poster of a basketball team, and there's a picture of him and his girlfriend, Jenna, on his desk that I think he only put up because she comes by every once in a while.

Whipped.

"How's it been?" I ask Ric, putting on my headset and my finger hovering over the Auto In button that I really, really don't want to press. I glance back at him and he's lounged back, now vertically throwing and catching a baseball.

"Massive blizzard in Boston last night, so we're gonna get a whole bunch of 'wicked-icy roads, man, wicked-icy,'" he says and I snort, "but their power is out right now so we shouldn't get slammed 'til later. So far it's been slow, about four minutes between and just a bunch of Saturday night hit and runs and Sunday vandalisms."

"Sweet," I say and press my _favorite_ button, and no beeps for me. Yet.

Four minutes between calls is a lovely luxury, especially on a Monday morning. But I give it thirty minutes before those TV monitors at the end of each row, the ones that so nicely count _everything_, light up like a damn firework show. Because everyone assumes they can't report their shit on the weekend despite the fact that our phone lines are open 24/7, so Monday morning? It's a bitch.

"So," he grins and tosses the baseball at me, and I sling it right back. "What color was last night?"

"Brunette. Jealous?"

He shrugs and tosses the baseball back a little harder. "You gotta pay for it. I just gotta go home."

I chunk the ball at him. "I don't pay for shit."

"You buy their drinks?"

"Yeah."

"Then you're paying for it," he smiles and throws the baseball again.

"Dick," I mutter and halt my windup when Little Miss Perfect comes running down the aisle between us.

"What time is it?" she gasps and throws her purse down on her desk that's adjacently across the aisle from me, sitting directly in front of Ric so he not only gets a view of the back of my pretty hair, but hers too.

"Good morning to you too, Elena," I purr and toss the baseball at Ric. "Nine after," I tell her and she doesn't even hear me because she's already logging in her phone and shuffling her stack of scrap paper around, silencing her cell phone and turning on her computer and trying to find a place to set down her coffee between all her pictures and fake flowers and the multitude of testosterone killing shit that is eating her workspace. I don't know how she lives with that kind of clutter for forty hours a week.

She turns around and looks at Ric. "Did you hear about that blizzard in Boston?"

"Yeah, none coming in yet," he tells her and she lets out a sigh of relief.

Massive storms to us are a big fat neon sign that we are about to be very, very busy. I pay more attention to the weather now than I will ever admit in front of a skirt that comes above the ankles.

"What's got you all in a tizzy?" I ask to Elena's back and catch the ball Ric throws at me.

"Nothing, thank you," she says sharply over her shoulder and turns back away.

I hold up my hands and make a mockingly apologetic face at Ric that makes him snort, and pitch him the ball.

"Elena, I'm going to grab some coffee. You want me to put something away for you?" Ric asks her and she swings around in her chair with a face like he just offered her a million bucks.

"Thanks, Ric," she breathes at him, and hands him her packed lunch. Which is probably her standard salad with light dressing and if she's feeling really naughty, maybe even some carrot sticks. Oooh.

Because God forbid Elena not be sensible and perfect about something, or buy food from the café that has a calorie count over 300. The fucking horror.

"No problem," he smiles at her and yeah, that face is Jenna's doing from when she cut off my best friend's balls.

"I would like a muffin. Thanks for asking, dick," I taunt and Elena whips around to glare at me.

"Do you mind watching your language? There are people on the _phone_, Damon, and even if they can't hear you, _I can_."

"My bad," I drawl and she rolls her eyes at me.

It's not like me and Elena are exactly bosom buddies, but Jesus Christ, the girl needs to get laid, and bad. When she first started working here I was more than happy to help her out with that, too. Not that she took me up on the offer. Whatever, her loss. She's still hot as all hell though, petite with a rocking tight body that's just a little bit curvy, big doe eyes and long brown hair and she always dresses like she's on her way to church which makes me want to repeatedly defile her _in_ one. But she treats me like I'm some annoying kid brother and it's not exactly making me pant after her.

"Look, I'm-" she starts, but doesn't get much farther when my voice cuts her off.

"Claims reporting, this is Damon," I smile at her when a call beeps in, and I turn towards my computer.

Yadda yadda yadda, red fish blue fish, yes, no, here there everywhere, here's your claim number and we'll call you at this time at this number and peace out, buddy.

Click.

I turn back to the aisle as Ric saunters up with a coffee in hand.

"Where's my muffin?"

"I ate it," he tells me and I scoff.

"Damon," Elena sighs at me and I arch an eyebrow at her. "I'm sorry I snapped like that, I just— Claims reporting, this is Elena. How may I help you?"

I glance at Ric and he mouths,_ "Did she just apologize to you?"_ and I shake my head with a shrug.

"Uh-huh, no, I—Yes, I do understand…" Elena tells whoever is on the other end of her phone line and I tune it out.

She is the delight of every single person that has the good fortune to get her when they call in. I spend forty hours a week listening to her giggle with customers, being gracious and charming and empathetic and management just loves her and it's so fucking annoying. Because she's good at what she does, I'll give her that, but so am I. Not that anyone cares because I'm always late and Elena is pretty. Well I'm pretty too, dammit.

"You should come over tonight and drink some decent whiskey I scored off Jenna's dad," Ric tells me. "You know, instead of having an eight-dollar beer at a bar like an overage frat boy."

"That would be a no."

He shakes his head with a laugh. "You can go one night without having to look for your clothes on someone else's floor."

"Nope. Really can't," I smirk. "Besides, Jenna's mad at me."

"Only because the last time you came over you tried to hit on her niece."

"Bullshit, she hit on me," I protest.

"She was sixteen, Damon," Ric scowls at me and I shudder.

"Yeah, they should be forced to wear a sign that says 'Ripe For Getting You Arrested.'"

"Or, you could just not hit on everything that walks."

"She hit on me!"

"No, I really don't… Now, please…" Elena pleads and both Ric and I look at her.

She has a hand over her mouth, nodding dejectedly at whatever the person is telling her. I switch my phone into a break mode so I'm not in any danger of a call coming in because something tells me I may want to be call-less when this ends, probably badly.

"That's no reason… Sir, sir, I understand that you're upset but I am not… Sir, I am going to ask you politely to please not speak to me that way or call me that," she tells him and Ric raises his eyebrows at me, reaching forward to change Elena's phone settings so it automatically switches into her break time after the call ends.

"_What the fuck?"_ I mouth at him and he shakes his head.

"Excuse me?" Elena gasps. "Sir, I am not… Hello? Sir?" She looks down at her phone and confirms the line is gone, and yep, the fucker just hung up on her.

No one says anything for a minute, and Elena is sitting very, very still, but it doesn't hide the way her hands are shaking.

I look a little closer, and I swallow when I notice her eyes are also watering.

Damn, she didn't need to start her day that way, not when she has ten hours ahead of her and she was already late. And Elena is _never_ late.

"Elena?" Ric prods gently and it burns her back to life, her back straightening in a way that makes me lean away from her, even though there's a good four feet between us across the aisle.

"Fuck this," she grits out and throws her headset on her desk, storming to her feet and stomping down the aisle towards the break room.

Ric and I both look at each other, because we have _never_ in the last three years that she's worked here, heard her say that.

Elena is patient. She is soft and innocent and practically spends all her time between calls on the internet looking at pictures of puppies and kittens and reading articles about how to save the world. She always cries when people die, taking the fatalities hard and the rare assholes even harder because everyone adores her and she can't cope with the sense of rejection, but she doesn't curse. And she doesn't walk off.

I jerk my head for Ric to go after her because something about being a guy and seeing a girl do that makes me switch into a pre-determined setting where I have no idea what needs to happen, other than maybe giving them tissues and being very quiet, and Ric is better at that than I am. That's why he's ten minutes from being on one knee with a ring box. _I'm _better at the 'Here's your tequila shot, sweetheart, I'll drive and where did you say you lived?' interactions.

"I can't man, my break's over. I gotta get back in," he tells me and points at the monitors, which are lit up red with calls holding and he puts his headset back on. I flip him the bird as he hits his Auto In button, turning towards his computer. "Claims reporting, this is Ric…"

"Fuck," I scowl and check my time. Yeah, girl is about to burn up my whole morning break. And I've been here for all of twenty minutes. Awesome. Employee of the year, right here, baby.

"You owe me," I hiss at him and toss down my headset, rolling my neck.

I get up and head towards the break room, where I can definitely hear the sounds of Elena softly crying.

Don't be a dick. _Don't _be a dick. You are a professional listener to crying women and if you can do it on the phone it shouldn't be that hard to do it in person.

Except that I hate looking at their eyes getting all red and puffy and their makeup smudging and God, I wish I had a drink that was twelve times stronger than water or coffee.

I find her sitting on a couch with her one-inch heels kicked off and her feet curled under her demure gray pencil skirt, her shoulders shaking and a roll of toilet paper in her lap.

So, I am officially useless.

I swagger over to the vending machine like it's where I was going all along, getting a package of Twizzlers. Neither of us says anything when I plop down on the opposite end of the couch and tilt the opened package of dye-and-chemical-laden candy towards her.

"Cancer?" I offer politely, and she gapes at me before bursting into tears.

Yeah, so that sucks.

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**A/N: So there it is! The first chapter! I cannot wait to hear what you guys think, and we'll be rolling on a weekly posting schedule like normal so don't forget to hit those buttons! I love you all endlessly, and hope to see you next chapter! **

**-Goldnox**


	2. Hookah Up

**A/N: HOLY CRAP YOU GUYS! I CANNOT BELIEVE THE RESPONSE TO THE FIRST CHAPTER! I AM JUST...SPEECHLESS. **

**All my love to my wonderful, fabulous beta, Trogdor19, who is the wind beneath my wings and the master of sending sexy spam, even though she's thousands of miles away so I can't make her beans. *sniffle***

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**Chapter 2: Hookah Up**

"A'ight, I'm out," I say and turn off my computer monitor, logging out of my phone. Eight P.M. on the dot and not a moment too soon. What a long fucking day. Hate Mondays. _Hate._

"Sure you don't want to reconsider?" Ric asks, shutting down his computer and winding up his headset cord, and I swivel my chair to face him. "Decent whiskey, Jenna's cooking…" he says and holds out his left hand palm up, then does the same with his right. "Overpriced beer and roulette with a possible stalker carrying an STD."

I chuckle and shake my head. "More like a hot date with my gym bag. She's so sexy," I purr and Ric snorts. "I may hit you up later though. Man's gotta eat. Well, food, I mean…"

"And on that note," Ric says quickly, his eyes flaring a warning. He stands and leans forward, his voice soft when he whispers, "'Night, Elena," to one Miss Gilbert, currently ending a super kickass day by being stuck on a call that sounds like it's nowhere near being finished.

"Uh-huh, no…absolutely," she says into her headset and then mutes her phone. "'Night, Ric," she smiles at him then unmutes. "That must have been terrible, I'm so sorry…"

I give him a two finger salute in a sendoff when he starts heading down the aisle toward the parking lot, and I turn my cell phone on, relaxing back in my chair. No texts so far, so I'm free to hit the gym once I leave. Which I could definitely use.

That storm in Boston hit us hard, and I barely had time to think today. Not to mention the majority of calls were just bad. Lot of roll overs, lot of pile ups. Everything was an emergency, everyone needed to be called back right away. Tow trucks couldn't get to people because of the ice on the roads that still hadn't been plowed, rental car agencies were closed and if they _were_ open, they were out of cars. A lot of people cold and scared and stranded and it was one giant fucking mess that I just waded through for ten hours. And some days it feels like I can help someone, but today I don't feel like I accomplished anything, except surviving it.

A boxing bag and some free weights sound pretty fucking good right about now.

"Really? Well, where did the fifth car…my goodness…" Elena says and I shake my head.

I squint and check her screen, and she's got two cars that are documented, and three to go. Awesome. She's not leaving anytime in the next half hour. I check around and the building is still bright, but the majority of people have already cleared out. The third shift is trickling in, but we're talking one person for every thirty desks.

"Uh-huh, so how many people were in that fourth car? Sorry, van… Six? Really, all of them were hurt?" Elena mutes her phone and glances at me. "I am never getting out of here."

I give her half a smile and go back to scrolling through my cell phone. Looking at nothing.

"Okay, so in the fifth car…another van? Okay, how many…five? Adults or…all minors except for the driver?"

I chuckle, though there's nothing funny about it. She's going to have to document not only every kid, but also the parent of each. Those four kids just became eight different names and addresses, plus three phone numbers per person. She may as well plan on sleeping here.

I put my phone in my pocket and blow out a breath, nodding at the janitor coming down the aisle to empty the trashcans.

"'Sup, Stefan," I mumble and he tilts his head toward Elena.

"Late night?"

"Yep. We'll be out of your hair in a few minutes."

The corners of his eyes narrow and I don't give a fuck. Don't get me wrong, I feel for him because he's prematurely balding and is obviously having issues coming to terms with it, because the little hair he has is overly gelled and teased into the most ridiculous bouffant ever to step foot into the United States. But he always looks at Elena like she's on his menu and something about the guy just doesn't sit right with me.

"No worries, take your time," he grins in a sleezy recovery and I barely resist narrowing my eyes at him.

Fucking creep. I hand him my trashcan and he empties it and changes the bag, and while I'm setting it back under my desk I see him turn and bend down, more than he has to, so he can grab the one under Elena's.

Right beside her bare legs.

I launch to my feet, getting between them before he can even come close to her, and she hands me her trashcan without missing a beat on her call. I shove it at his chest, and he gathers the bag and replaces it with a fresh one, looking at me like we're best buddies and have been forever. Like he has no clue why I'm about two seconds from putting my job in jeopardy and beating the shit out of him for trying that.

"Have a good night, Damon," he nods at me and continues down the row. My glare follows him until I feel a light shove on my back and I turn, Elena shooing me away with her hand.

"Okay, how many witnesses gave statements?" she asks and when I step back out of her personal space, she reaches down into her bottom drawer and takes a can of mace out of her purse, wiggling it at me with a smile and nodding toward Stefan. "Okay, you mentioned before about a telephone pole?"

I grab for the can of mace and she barely resists laughing, snatching it out of my reach and turning away to hide it from me. I spin her chair back around and scrabble for the can, and she mutes her phone. "Go, I'm fine," she giggles. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Suit yourself," I tell her and shrug, unmuting her phone. "Goodnight, Elena," I say loudly and her eyes widen as she shoves at me.

"No, sorry about that. Please, you're fine, we're in no hurry. Uh-huh, no it's okay, I promise…" she says sweetly, trying to appease the caller and I bow dramatically before heading down the aisle towards the parking lot, swinging my keys around my finger.

I don't know why I was sticking around to begin with. The building is secure, the parking lot is gated and under surveillance, and the security guards are patrolling. She's a big girl and she's fine.

I get in my car and start it, stress bleeding out of my shoulders at the sound of the engine. The rest of me is still impatient for a run-in with a 4'2 cylindrical body, a crude taunt behind his quiet tongue and a solid 100 pounds poured into the ability to take one helluva hit. Me and the Everlast punching bag at my gym have a long lasting friendship. One that I'm more than happy to put the work into to keep us besties.

Sitting at a desk all week doesn't exactly carve you out of stone, but a few sessions of going balls to the wall with fists swinging, maybe even some light kick boxing, that'll keep the Photoshop needs at bay. Plus, I have too much damn energy anyways. It may even have something to do with why my sex drive is yes and now and always, thank you. If I was born five years later I probably would have gotten swept up in the Ritalin and Adderall craze but since I wasn't, I was just known as a kid with too much spark and not enough space.

I ran track in high school, but I hate running. It's boring. Football is fun to watch, but I never played it because I decided to pass on having five concussions in fewer weeks in favor of being able to spell my name without forgetting it halfway through. I'm good at baseball, but nine innings was three too long for me to stand around and do _nothing_ while people scratched their balls.

Boxing, I do. Weights, I do. The only other sport I even bother with is golf, which would make no sense, except that I've been doing it forever and it's the one place where I can slow myself down.

It takes concentration and focus and you have to know yourself, your body, to hit the ball squarely and also figure out why the fuck you have a glitch in your swing and won't stop slicing. My mind still runs at full steam ahead, but when my backswing starts it's honed in on the specific tilt of my shoulders and pulling my weight up through one leg and pushing down in another, locking my left arm straight while bending my right elbow, calculating the exact moment for when my wrists hitch and then I hit the apex and everything pauses, for one little heartbeat, before my weight swings through my hips and my left arm leads my body to unwind and power flows in an arc like the drawn string of a bow and then it just explodes as it strikes that white ball.

And instead of a dozen tiny little decisions that add up to one shot, the only thing I can think or see is the ball as it flies away from me, my arms unconsciously letting the club finish its circled follow-through and for one glorious moment, I can breathe quietly.

But golf is expensive, and it doesn't keep you in shape unless you walk the course and fuck that. They invented golf carts for a reason. Probably because they are really, really fun to wreck.

I didn't say that.

I pull up and stop in front of the gym, grabbing my gym bag from the back seat. It's a quick change inside the locker room to get out of my jeans and black button down and into my most comfortable basketball shorts, taping my hands up and putting on my boxing gloves because I can't afford to risk breaking a finger when I have to type for work. I knock my fists together and my body hums, muscles coiled and ready for a fight that I know I'm going to win.

I stroll into the workout room, heading to the corner where my partner is hanging and practically flipping me the bird.

"'Sup, buddy," I smile at the punching bag, taking my stance with my stomach tightened and hands raised protectively in front of my face.

I take a deep breath, and I swing.

* * *

Fuck, I needed that.

An hour and fifteen minutes of jabs and kicks and throwing every ounce of strength I have into an opponent that's always ready for more. I'm exhausted and exhilarated, adrenaline pumping and still relishing the burn of a good workout. I ditched the idea of switching to free weights because it felt too liberating to punch and strike with no restraint, but I finally called it when I was covered with sweat and breathing hard, the claims I took today finally gone from my memory.

Showered and changed, and back in the car. Now, I just have the rest of the night to fill.

Time to get this party started.

"What's for dinner?" I ask Ric when he answers my call, pulling out into traffic and holding the phone between my ear and my shoulder so I can shift gears.

"What?" he asks. "I can't hear you over that dumbass engine."

"Fuck you," I chuckle, then speed up to go around some grandma in a station wagon, the growl of the V8 loud enough that I risk saying, "By the way, Jenna's ass looked amazing in those yoga pants she was wearing the other night."

"Just a chance I'm amazing…suppose Yogi plants…something about Sprite. Are you drunk dialing me?" he says confused, and I snort. "Because I am not a booty call, dick."

I slow down for a red light and the engine idles when I stop, a low spaced sputter that rumbles and rattles like she's begging to be set free.

"What's…for…dinner," I say clearly.

"For you? Probably Taco Bell and chlamydia."

"Aww, does someone have his panties in a wad because his wittle feewings got hurt?" I pout. "Come on, baby, you know you're the only girl for me."

"Why am I even friends with you?" he says and I hear Jenna saying something in the background about how "Goose" needs to get off the phone, otherwise he is going to be in a world of pain if the food gets cold. _"C'mere,"_ he growls playfully at her, and then she squeaks like he slapped her ass or something.

Her voice is suddenly high pitched and giggly when she calls out, _"Great balls of fire!"_

"Does that make me Maverick?" I taunt. "You always were a whiny little sidekick."

"Goose was the fucking master and he's everyone's favorite, so shut up. And if you're not here in ten minutes I'm throwing your food away. And you better be nice to Jenna or you're going to know what that punching bag you love so much feels like."

I scoff and roll my eyes at the red light that is eating up my life, and my dinner, _and_ my gas, and my gaze drifts distractedly until it snags on something that can't be right.

I squint my eyes and oh yeah, that's definitely her.

"What the fuck is she doing?" I laugh and Ric sighs.

"I just got bumped for a skirt, didn't I?"

"Possibly," I mumble and watch as Elena leans against her parked car, taking off her one-inch heels and trading them for a pair of flip flops.

"She better be hot," Ric says and I watch amused as she goes inside a hookah bar. Of all the fucking places.

"Aren't they always?" I say and hang up the phone.

I glance around and I don't see any cops, so I make a turn that breaks about four laws and pisses off at least three people but I don't care. I pull into the parking lot and I don't even know why I'm doing this, but I'm young and dumb and fuck it, this is a blaring sign that says "A shit-ton of ammo for whenever she gets into her high and mighty moods."

I never did find out why Elena went all _Brian's Song_ on me this morning, because after I ratcheted up her anxiety attack from a six to a twelve with my candy/cancer joke, I bailed back to my desk. You know, like a considerate person does. She came back about five minutes later, and the rest of the day was too damn busy to say anything else about it and besides, after she got back she pulled it together so I didn't see the point in bringing it up again.

Especially not when she got three fatalities before lunch. _Three._ That shit just does not happen that close together. She needs to be secured in like a bunker or something because someone has it out for this girl today.

I head inside the hookah bar and it's everything I expected and nowhere I want to be seen. Earthy-crunchy, wheatgrass guzzling, unwashed beatniks stretched out on couches with threadbare embroidered pillows and a bunch of dreadlocks crowding around tables, each with a hookah setup. The light is low but peppered with the glow of burning tobacco, hinting at the smoke that is hovering and seeping into every single pore it can find.

I narrow my eyes at the walking tofu advertisement that's standing on the stage, hands clasped around the microphone and her eyes closed as she whispers in a random rhythm that is supposed to go along with the guy spastically hitting a bongo behind her, saying something about how the birth of trees are like the eggs falling from her ovaries and how her period is mother earth and I wanna gag.

I need to get the fuck out of here. I cannot afford therapy on my salary.

Everyone starts snapping their fingers and I think I'm having some sort of testosterone emergency broadcast because my shoulder twitches and my left eye kinda spasms and _Jesus_, this place is already eating my balls like they're made out of soy or snap peas or something equally feminine and just plain cruel. But my ability to leave is forfeited when I see the reason I subjected myself to this in the first place.

The Sugar Plum Fairy is sitting on a couch in the corner, her legs crossed under her knee-length pencil skirt and showing me the back of her lavender blouse as she digs in her purse, saying something to the waitress hovering over her. I sneak over while her back is still to me, sitting on the sofa beside her extremely carefully so she doesn't notice.

"So, the decaf mocha latte to drink and the Blackberry Martini for the hookah?" the waitress confirms.

"Yes, please," Elena tells her and I rest my elbow on the back of the couch, pressing my fist to my mouth as she continues trying to uncover the Fountain of Youth at the bottom of her purse. "I just can't…find…my…" she mumbles and the waitress turns to me. I smile at her and she shifts her weight, swallowing.

"Anything for you, sir?" she asks me and Elena whips around with a shriek.

"Not for now, thanks," I tell the waitress with a wink and she blushes before walking away.

"She didn't take my card…" Elena mutters, staring after the waitress, and then she suddenly remembers that I'm here, pivoting towards me with a glare. "Thanks a lot, by the way, you scared the bejeesus out of me."

"Oh, no! What are you ever going to do without your bejeesus?"

She huffs a laugh and _well,_ what do you know…

"What are you even doing here, Damon? Stalking me? That seems a little desperate, even for you."

I roll my eyes, then gesture to the rest of the place. "So this is where you spend your time when you're not at Bible study? Very…" She cocks an eyebrow at me and crosses her arms, waiting for me to finish. "Hippie."

She scoffs. "I don't recall inviting you to my 'hippie' hangout, so feel free to go unfairly judge others somewhere else. Besides, don't you have some pressing one night stands to get to?"

"Soon," I smirk and she shifts a little, re-crossing her legs. Huh. "Come here a lot?" I ask curiously and she shrugs.

"They do open mic on Mondays."

"You mean, you _knew_ this was going to happen, and you purposefully subjected yourself to it?" I say and indicate to the genius on the stage making William Blake turn over in his grave.

She laughs softly and I can't help but grin. "It's not all bad," she tells me. "Sometimes it can be nice listening to _other people_ talk after doing it all day."

"Uh-huh." All we _do_ is spend our time listening to other people speak random nonsense. I don't know what the fuck she's talking about.

"Really. The words kinda blend into the smoke, and it all gets a little fuzzy around the edges. It's peaceful." She shrugs.

"Hippie," I say smugly and she rolls her eyes at me with a smile.

The waitress chooses that moment to reappear and hands Elena her oversized coffee cup, then begins the process of filling and lighting her hookah.

"Thank you," Elena smiles at her and I arch an eyebrow. Never in a million years would I have expected this from her. Knitting? Yes. Gardening? Definitely. Smoking? Not even in the same building as the list of acceptable hobbies.

"What?" Elena asks when she spies me watching her get all set up, and I shake my head.

"Nothing."

She rolls her eyes at me and takes a hit, and fuck me running if the little angel doesn't blow out a few smoke rings that would make Willie Nelson proud.

I wonder if she has a little tattoo hidden somewhere under those librarian's clothes…

I clear my throat and wash the thought from my mind because it's _Elena_, and the last thing I need to do is something really, really stupid.

"May I?" I ask and gesture to the hookah, and she bites her lip.

"Sure."

I take a hit at the same time she does, and this time when she blows out a smoke ring, I lean over in front of her and blow a slightly smaller one so it slips smoothly inside of hers as they float away from us.

I lean back away from her, dropping my gaze down to her lips for a second too long before meeting her eyes, my voice husky and rough when I tell her, "Perfect fit."

She sucks in a breath and coughs, and I risk a laugh when she smacks me on the shoulder.

"Don't do that," she admonishes and I shrug as if I don't know what she's talking about.

She decides to begin ignoring me in favor of drinking her coffee, and I relax into the cushions. And I'm facing the stage, but really I'm watching Elena out of the corner of my eye while she becomes increasingly invested in the girl that's performing.

So much so that she startles a little when I lean over and whisper, "What is she even talking about?"

"Maybe if you would listen, it would make more sense," she whispers back. "Who knows, Damon? A miracle could happen and you could actually learn something that doesn't revolve around sex."

"What makes you think I want to?" I test. "And is that your acknowledgement that I'm already holding a doctorate on the subject?"

"I'm not talking about this with you. It's…inappropriate," she says and I grin.

"So exactly what_ is_ appropriate?"

Elena rolls her eyes and I'm seriously playing with some hot fucking fire, but this is too much fun.

"You know, one of these days your wee-wee is gonna fall off if you keep abusing it."

"Ain't nothing 'wee' about it, Elena," I say smoothly, my tongue caressing her name too intimately for anything that occurs while clothes are still being worn.

"God, help me. What did I do to deserve this?" she mumbles and I chuckle.

I shift back, giving her some space so hopefully she won't mace me, but when everyone starts snapping, Elena included, I snicker.

"You're welcome to go at any time, you know," Elena scowls at me and I clear my throat. "And how did you even find me here?"

I sigh. "I saw you coming in while I was driving by, I wasn't following you, I swear. And…" My brow furrows and I shift in my seat. "Look, I'm not _trying_ to be rude, it's just that…" I trail off and look away, and it takes her a minute to pick up the conversation where I stopped.

"Just what?" she asks, her voice dropping to that place it goes when she's concerned, the one that I know so well because I hear it fifty times a day when she's talking to a customer.

I blow out a breath and scrub a hand through my hair, and when I look back at Elena, her head is tilted worriedly.

I shrug. "I don't know how to snap," I tell her and she bursts out laughing. I glare at her and barely shake my head with an incredulous huff. "'Bye, Elena," I say harshly and act like I'm going to leave, stopping when her hand shoots out to land on my arm.

"You're serious?" she asks, the distinct shadow of pity lighting up her features.

I settle back into the couch and repeatedly slide the pad of my thumb over my other fingertips to demonstrate, and she blushes. "In three years, have you ever heard me snap? I didn't think so. But," I drawl, "I can whistle. Master whistler."

"I bet you are," she says and faces me. "Okay, it's easy."

"Thanks," I say sarcastically and she rolls her eyes at me.

"Just pinch your thumb and middle fingers together, like this," she tells me and holds up her hands between us like an example. I do as she wants, and she smiles coyly. Not a bad look on her. "Good. Now, you just…snap," she says and flicks her fingers.

I furrow my brow and do the same, but no sound comes out.

"Yeah, fuck that," I mumble and she pouts at me, quite adorably.

"Come on, this is silly," she says and picks up my hands again. I arch an eyebrow at how soft her dainty little hands are, and keep my jaw locked as she arranges my thumb and middle fingers like she had hers, finishing with a proud, "There." I nod once and she laughs softly. "So, on the count of three we're going to push really hard until the fingers have to go in separate directions, and I'll help."

I bite my cheeks against a grin. Who says I'm not brilliant?

She practically has her whole hand wrapped around my preparing-to-snap fingers, squeezing them tightly together.

"One, two…three!" she says with an excited smile, and when I flick my fingers she somehow manages to fall forward at the effort she used to "help." She panics with a squeak and I chuckle as she steadies herself with a hand on my shoulder, blushing spectacularly and snatching her hand off my shirt when she realizes it's there.

Her eyes are huge and embarrassed when I dart mine to my shoulder and then back at her, finding her completely focused on the growing curve of my mouth.

She delicately clears her throat and turns away, picking up her coffee.

"Yeah," she says after a sip, her voice still a little raspy, "I think you're better off just whistling."

"Too bad," I comment. "Think I was getting the hang of it there for a minute."

She re-crosses her legs and shifts a little further away from me.

Yeah, that's what I thought.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and it's probably Ric telling me what an asshole I am for blowing him off, but when I pull it out to check, it's a text from the lovely and rambunctious Caroline. Blond and bubbly, non-clingy and pings me for a sexual pick-me-up about once every three weeks. She's a blast in bed, and because her thin concept of commitment applies to her shoe purchases and nothing else, she is one of the few that has my number and we now have a semi-regular, high-stamina-required understanding.

I discreetly text her back that I'll be there in about fifteen minutes.

Tonight is definitely looking up for a Monday.

"You get your booty call?" Elena says and my head jerks up. She has her long legs crossed and looks fairly amused, like she can't believe it took me this long to bail on her.

"Actually, it's my grandfather."

"Uh-huh. Your grandfather is texting you at 10:30 at night?" she asks with a smirk and I cross my arms.

"Yeah, he wants to know if I'll come watch Jeopardy with him."

"Okay," she says lightly. "Can I see your phone?"

"I'm sorry, can you _what_?"

She holds her hand out and I scoff.

"Yeah, I don't think so, sweetheart."

"First, don't call me that. Second, told ya," she winks. "And third, have fun and don't forget to wear protection," she sing-songs and goes to take another hit off the hookah, sending a raw laugh bursting out of me.

Who _is_ this girl? Because she sure as shit isn't the perfect little princess at work that glares at me every time I use the grown up version of the word 'shoot' around her.

I wonder how much more fun she'd be if I could get something stronger than coffee in her cup.

"You gonna go or what?" she taunts. "Because I'm telling you right now, you're not getting any here…" she says and leans back, propping her head in her hand with her elbow on the back of the couch.

That almost sounds like a challenge, and damn, do I want to take it.

I let my gaze sweep over her body, over the purple paint on her toenails and her lazily swinging foot, the smooth skin of her long legs and the hem of her gray pencil skirt barely touching her knees. But it stops at the security badge that's hanging from her neck, resting against her lavender silk shirt. The same exact badge that's in my pocket.

Yeah, that's a problem.

Because if I make my move _now_, I'm basically signing myself up for endless hours of her accusing glares. After three years, I know with perfect certainty that she's not the kind of chick I can get away with screwing and then have it still be casual at work, despite the fact that I'm not calling her or bringing her flowers. She's all or nothing, and I don't do "all."

I declare defeat and stand, dropping some cash on the table. I turn to tell her goodbye, and she's thrusting the money at me.

"Take your money because I don't want you thinking this was a date," she says seriously and my eyes widen, a little offended.

"Fine."

I take the money from her and lean down to steal one more hit off her hookah, just to see if I can rile her up a little more. Girl needs a little color in her cheeks. She cocks an eyebrow as I blow the smoke out far more seductively than I damn well know I should, but fuck it. Tonight's already been weird anyways.

I step backwards towards the door and jerk my chin at her. "See you later, Elena," I smile.

I turn and continue walking away, and I'm almost to the exit when the rest of the bar begins snapping again. I pivot to face her, snapping my fingers expertly, and the last thing I see is her blushing through a shocked gasp before I'm out the door.

I get in my car and rev the engine a little louder than normal, just because I know she can hear it inside.

Methinks someone is going to have some trouble going to sleep tonight when she's snuggled up with her teddy bear.

I scoff and shake my head at myself when I realize what I'm thinking. I need to get my head back in the right damn game, which is a 5'7 blond that is waiting to jump me as soon as I step on her doormat. And that girl knows how to take care of a man.

I redirect my focus to the curves that I know are waiting for me, and by the time I'm pulling up outside Caroline's apartment I'm ready to go.

I take the stairs two at a time, and she only makes me wait three seconds after I knock.

I jerk my chin at her and she smiles, then her face scrunches up. "Wow, you really smell like smoke."

Fuck.

"Yeah, sorry," I tell her and lean against the doorway. "Was hanging with a buddy at a hookah lounge." I pick at the front of my shirt and smell it, visibly shuddering, and she giggles. "Probably could use a shower, huh?"

"Um, yeah," she says and I hook a finger into the belt loop of her jeans, pulling her into me.

"Could use a little company while I'm in there…" I say huskily and she arches her back slightly, shaking out her hair before she tilts her head as though she's considering it while I slide my knee between hers.

"That could be arranged," she whispers and I bend to her neck, drawing my lips across her skin until she shivers.

"Where's your roommate?"

"Out…won't be home for at least an hour…"

I smirk and shift so my lips are hovering over hers. "I can work with that."

"We'll see," she taunts and I kiss her hungrily, backing her into the apartment and kicking the door closed behind us. Her neighbors are already about to get one hell of an auditory show, they don't need the visual to match.

Caroline's hands are already halfway done with unbuttoning my shirt by the time the door latches, but she's forced to stop when I tug her pink camisole up and off. I toss it somewhere far, far away from her perky and delightfully bare breasts, and since we're on a time limit I reach behind my head and pull my own shirt off so it can join hers on the floor.

Step One: Complete.

I pull her closer so her breasts are securely against my chest, my tongue owning hers and my fingers already undoing the zipper on her jeans as we continue stumbling towards her bedroom. I don't even know why she's wearing pants, girl knows better than that.

Whatever, I've still got the denim stripped down off her fair skin in less time that it takes her to put them on, followed with the never failing panty-dampener of boosting her up so her legs are wrapped around my waist. Her hands tangle in my hair as she kisses me deeper, moaning when I squeeze her ass and lean her against the closest wall I can find so I can press my erection more firmly against her.

Yeah, screw the bedroom and the shower, I'll going to fuck her right here first.

"Condom," she pants like I don't know that, and I nip at her neck while reaching into my back pocket, my hips pinning her to the wall for me.

I chuckle when she snatches the condom out of my hands as soon as she sees it, and no shit, she actually rips it open with her teeth. And you can bet I don't say a damn word about it, just reaching down to unhook my jeans, my cock shoving my zipper open for me.

"Gimme that," I grin and take the condom back, kissing her again while I tease her clit through her panties to make sure she's as wet as possible.

I slip a finger inside her to check and oh yeah, she's ready to go.

She moans and I give her another finger to stretch her slightly, stroking greedily as she trembles and her head falls back against the wall. Alright. I didn't exactly plan on this but screw it; I'm certainly not going to complain about her enjoying herself, and I begin rubbing her clit with my thumb while her legs quiver around me.

I'm just opening my mouth to say something to bring her approaching orgasm screaming into reality, because Caroline always loses her shit when I talk dirty to her, but instead of hearing my own voice I hear a very, very different one.

"Care, whose car is that outsi— _Damon?!" _Elena screeches and my muscles lock, my head whipping towards her voice and I don't even remember hearing the door open…

Doesn't matter, dumbass. Bigger fucking problems.

Like, _holy shit._

Elena is really standing in the doorway, all the color draining from her face as she takes in the sight of me pinning her friend against the wall, one of my hands conspicuously between me and Caroline because _Jesus Christ_ I'm still inside of her and Elena's gaze is traveling down my shirtless body and over the trail of abandoned clothes and _fuck_, this is not good.

So not good.

* * *

**A/N: Whew! Somebody's in trouble... Te he he. And if anyone is curious, the whole Stefan appearance? Totally my husband's idea. Down to the balding hair. Love my husband, he's a damn genius. With power tools. And a scruffy permanent 5 o'clock shadow. Yum. **

**Hope to see you guys next chapter, and can't wait to hear what you think! **

**-Goldnox**


	3. The Right to be Silent

**A/N: Goodness gracious, guys! Over 100 reviews on TWO, count them, TWO CHAPTERS?! THAT IS INSANELY AWESOME! Y'ALL ROCK! **

**All the thanks to Trogdor19 for beta'ing, and may she not be voluntarily spiraling into a water vortex filled with nemo fishes because past tense is whackadoodle and the world has to be delivered on a silver platter by tomorrow****. EVERYONE! Go check out her season 5 re-write _In Time We Trust_ because DAYUM, does that girl write some wicked wicked smut. OOH LA LA!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 3: The Right to be Silent**

"Elena!" Caroline exclaims and starts scrambling to get away from me, but if I let her go then her whole body is going to be exposed along with my erection and _God_, this is so bad.

"I'm…uh…" Elena stutters. I flare my eyes pointedly at her, and she finally gets the memo and spins around so she's facing the door, her back to us.

I pull my fingers out of Caroline in the definition of awkward, and when I set her down she darts away to snatch up her jeans and yank on her shirt, backwards and inside out, while I tuck myself into my pants. Elena sucks in a breath at the sound of my zipper and for some reason, I almost want to laugh. Except this is about ten miles away from funny.

"What are you doing home so soon?" Caroline asks to Elena's stiffened back, her voice breathless and too quick.

"Why _wouldn't_ I come home?" Elena hisses and this time I _do_ laugh, and her head jerks to the side and then towards the door again.

"We're dressed, it's fine," I chuckle and bend to pick up my shirt from the floor. I'm still threading my arms through the sleeves when Elena turns around.

"I didn't mean to interrupt, I'm sorry, I'll just…go…" she mumbles and I snort. Which apparently was another inappropriate response, because her embarrassed gaze turns into twenty shades of pissed off, all aimed in my direction. "I don't see anything funny about this, Damon," she blasts at me and I bite my cheeks against a grin, starting to button my shirt.

"Wait, do you know each other?" Caroline asks, her head snapping between me and Elena.

"Yeah," I tell Caroline and her eyebrow arches. Oh, for fuck's sake. "We work together."

"Oh," she says and shrugs it off, just like that. Which is exactly why she and I are cool. "Wait…you're _that_ Damon?" she asks with a knowing smile and looks at Elena, whose whole face burns red and I wouldn't be surprised if Caroline were to burst into flames from the look she's getting.

I grin and look at Elena, my head tilted curiously as I finish buttoning my shirt.

"If I said anything, it's that you're an immature, sleezy asshole," she snaps at me and my head jerks back in response.

"Elena!" Caroline scolds and her friend crosses her arms.

"_Well_," I say dramatically, "it's been fun, ladies, but I think I'll be going."

"Damon-" Caroline starts and I cut her off.

"It's fine," I smile at her and step forward to leave, but I pause to leave a chaste kiss on her cheek because she's not the jealous, irrational one in the room and I see no reason to burn this bridge. "See you later," I tell her and she nods, lightly squeezing my bicep.

Bridge firmly intact. At least something went right tonight.

"Elena," I say sweetly as I stroll past her, reaching for the door. She huffs and looks away, and the last thing I hear before I close the door behind me is Caroline asking Elena why she smells like smoke.

* * *

I think there's something wrong with me, because I can't remember ever being at work this early before. And by all means, I should be sneaking in at the last minute to avoid the brunette that has probably planted anthrax on my headset, but eight forty-nine A.M. and here I am.

I didn't get more than an hour of sleep last night, and that's really annoying. I don't see what the big damn deal is. Elena and I hung out for a few minutes, whoop-di-freaking-do. It's not like we had sex and I bolted before she was dressed to go sleep with someone else. I have every right to screw anyone I damn well please, and that just so happened to be her roommate. Again, is that any reason for her to act like I'm cheating on her or something? Fuck no.

It's also not the first time I've been walked in on, and I doubt it was the first time for Caroline either. Who cares? It's just sex. But Elena making such a fuss about it must have fucked my head all up, so that's gotta get straightened out. And now.

I swipe my badge and head inside the building, earning a surprised glance or two from the people I pass because I'm not running. Bite me.

Surprise to no one, both Elena and Ric are already here, sitting at their desks and chatting quietly before we log in at nine. Ric's eyes widen when he sees me, leaning back in his chair and looking like he wants to applaud. Which must tip off the Prude Princess because she gets that same damn rod in her back, pointedly not turning to look in my direction.

"Never been big on the book of Revelations, but should we be expecting some horsemen to come through here later?" Ric asks and I roll my eyes, sitting at my desk.

"Pretty sure they already made their rounds," I mutter and fire up my computer, seeing Elena shake her head out of the corner of my eye.

I roll my eyes and take a sip of my coffee, because I actually had time to stop and pick some up, and I'm _still_ early.

"So, what was with last night?" he asks and I turn to face him.

"What do you mean?" I ask and take another drink.

"Who was the skirt that captured your attention so thoroughly that you never showed?" he says and I choke on my coffee, sputtering a bit. "What?"

Elena slams her drawer closed when she puts something away, and I draw a finger across my neck in a plea for Ric to shut the fuck up, and his eyes bulge. His gaze flickers between me and Elena, and when I cock an eyebrow, his face hardens in a glare.

He launches to his feet and I lean back, but he still grabs me by the collar of my shirt and hauls me to my feet, coffee spilling onto my desk, and I stumble to keep up while he drags me down the aisle.

"Watch the shirt," I scowl and bat his hand away, and nine long years of friendship are the only things keeping me from resisting the urge to kick out the back of his knee as I continue following behind him. But the urge comes right back when he rounds on me as we hit the break room.

"Are you really that stupid?" he asks and I stand a little taller.

"First, you're supposed to be _my_ friend," I snap and he swallows. "And second," I say and glance around, checking to make sure no one is in ear shot. "I didn't sleep with her," I hiss and he relaxes a little more.

"Then what the hell is going on?"

"Look, I ran into her last night and we hung out for a bit." He cocks his eyebrow at me and I roll my eyes. "We were in a public place. Nothing happened."

"So…"

"So, I got a call," I say and clear my throat, "and I left to go take care of it."

He crosses his arms and I sigh.

"Elena walked in on me and the 'call,'" I tell him and his eyes bulge again. He's going to give himself eyestrain if he doesn't cut that shit out.

"How does that even happen?"

"Because, it was kind of her roommate," I snicker and take a sip of coffee, and proceed to spill some down my shirt when he shoves me. "Dammit, Ric!"

"Look, I am your friend," he growls, pointing at me threateningly, "but that girl doesn't need this kind of crap in her life."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means…you just need to keep it professional between you and her and nothing else."

I tilt my head at him. "Are you seriously telling me to stay away from her?"

"Yeah," he says seriously, and I cock an eyebrow.

"You realize I'm going to do whatever the hell I want, and that sounded dangerously close to a dare."

"Damon-"

"No, I got it," I tell him harshly. "And don't worry about me, or her. She's mighty pissed about the whole thing thanks to hormones and estrogen and other rational-response-erasers and I don't have time for this shit," I snap and grab some napkins before I walk off, glaring at the two people hanging outside the break room that were probably listening in.

I get back to my chair and wipe up the spilled coffee on myself and the desk, logging into my phone.

"Have fun talking about me?" Elena says quietly and I scoff, putting on my headset.

"Always do," I whisper, and when she turns to glare at me, I smirk at her.

I slam the Auto In button as Ric comes back up the aisle.

"Claims reporting, this is Damon." How may I piss you off today?

* * *

I don't think this day can go any slower. It's only five o'clock and I've got three hours to go and the tension between the three of us is nauseating. At least no one else has seemed to notice, because the rest of the people in our row and practically the whole damn building have been consistently swinging by, Elena giggling with her girlfriends and Ric talking about some damn game, but I am not in the mood.

And call volume is low, but that almost makes it worse. Because the silence that is settling over our little triangle is deafening.

I'm thinking another date with a punching bag is absolutely on my itinerary tonight. But for now, it's filled to the brim with sitting in my chair with my head leaned back, eyes closed and twirling a pen between my fingers as I wait for a call.

Three more hours.

"Damon," my boss says and my eyes fly open.

"Hey, Jeremy. How's it going?" I say casually, but his face is too tight and dammit, I don't need this now.

"You got a minute?"

"Sure." I force a smile and switch my phone status into a meeting code, setting down my headset and following him back to his desk.

"So, how have you been?" he asks as I take a seat in the uncomfortable plastic chair inside his higher-walled cubicle.

"Fine. Same old same old."

"Good," he nods, his hands folded in his lap.

It annoys the shit out of me when he acts like he's some middle-aged corporate end-all-be-all, when the only reason he has a larger desk than I do, despite being a year younger than me, is because he spent two years in the Air Force before he cut shit and ran into the safety of our call center. But apparently that qualifies him to jerk me around with a bachelor's in fake camaraderie when all I want is to be left alone to do my damn job.

"Pulled some calls, they sounded good."

I nod once, wishing he'd get on with whatever the fuck this is actually about. I know he doesn't want to talk about my calls. We have to "check in" once every few weeks and he hit me up last week, so I already know this has nothing to do with what's happening on the phone.

"So, I wanted to have a little one on one with you today, just talk about some stuff…"

Is that right? 'Cause I thought you wanted to be alone to stalk your ex-girlfriend on Facebook, which is how you usually spend your workday.

"And Damon, we're all on the same team here…"

Sure we are, because everyone who feels like people have their back has to be told this.

"And your personal life is your business…"

Damn right it is. So why the fuck are you talking about it?

"But when it comes into the work place, I have to say something."

"I'm sorry," I say and shake my head. "_What_, exactly, is coming into the workplace?"

He sighs and shifts in his seat, his voice dropping to a quiet tone that I really, really hate when he says, "I was approached by someone who said they were made uncomfortable by certain behaviors they have witnessed you exhibiting, relayed in conversations they overheard."

"Excuse me?"

There's no way I just heard that right.

"Look, Damon, I'm on your side," Jeremy tells me, and I barely resist scoffing. "But, just try to keep conversations about your outside activities a little more…private, in the future. Before this has to go to the next level."

Wow. Fucking _wow_.

That bitch.

Now she's screwing with my job?

"Just so I'm clear," I say, doing my best to stay calm, "is this from someone listening in on a private conversation, or is it from witnessing certain behaviors?"

He clears his throat and when I widen my eyes impatiently, he balks a little. Jeremy knows good and damn well that in any other situation, I could have his arm snapped and jaw broken before he could even blink, and it's his shit luck that he has to deliver this news to me. And the scrawny little fucker looks like he's a little worried that I'm gonna beat him down right here.

I need to calm down. The last thing I need is my boss filing a complaint on me too.

"I really can't specify," he says super diplomatically and I arch an eyebrow.

"I'm sure you can't specify who it was that raised this complaint either, can you?"

"Damon," he says in a warning tone and I shake my head.

"Right, sorry. I just…" I trail off and look away.

I can't fucking believe this shit.

He waits a minute before he gains the courage to speak. "Right now, this conversation is just between us, and I'd like to keep it that way," he tells me, his voice dropping again. "I don't have to report it to HR unless I get another…"

"Complaint?" I offer and he winces, then leans forward with his elbows on his knee to try to recover.

"This is a verbal coaching, and that's it. So just…make sure it stays that way." He offers me a smile like that's supposed to make this okay. Fat fucking chance. "So," he says and blows out a breath, leaning back in his chair. "Anything else you want to go over while you're here? How's the call volume been treating you?"

"Fine," I say quickly.

"No issues with burnout? Because there are always opportunities to move into other departments. Your calls are good and your stats are pretty solid-"

"I'm good, Jeremy. But thanks," I tell him and he nods.

"Alright." He glances at his clock. "Look, it's 5:15 now, call volume is low so why don't you go take an extra break on me, and we'll call the meeting over at 5:30. Sound good?"

"Sure," I say and tap my hands twice on the armrests before I rise and immediately turn to leave the building.

There better be someone smoking out there because I need a damn cigarette like it's the only thing that's going to keep me from tearing this place apart, and I quit smoking two years ago.

I need some damn air.

I need space.

I need to be far fucking away from Elena fucking Gilbert.

* * *

"You okay, man?" Ric asks as we both shut down our computers, logging off for the day.

At least it's just us because Queen Gilbert left two hours ago after scoring an Early Release because the calls just flat out stopped coming in, and someone in a back room in charge of balancing labor costs to call volume probably had a heart attack and started shrieking "Get them off the floor! Now!"

"Not really," I grit out, and he nods because we've been friends for long enough that he can tell when I'm about ready to kill anyone who sneezes wrong in my vicinity.

"Something to do with your talk with Jeremy?"

"Yep."

I stand and grab my keys, and I'm storming down the aisle before he can say anything else. I have my engine screaming out of the parking lot before Ric probably left his chair, and I'm headed straight to a damn bar.

I stop at the nearest one I can find, and even after ignoring two different girls that are interested and downing two beers in ten minutes, I still can't believe Elena fucking reported me.

And I'm only getting angrier.

If she has a problem with me she can own up to it and talk to me like a damn adult, not go whining to our boss like I pulled her pigtails during recess.

You know what? Fuck her. If she won't confront me, then I'll do it.

I drop some cash on the bar and I'm back in my car, racing down the same streets I took last night, just with a very different purpose.

The hot summer night air sticks to my skin as I take the outdoor stairs three at a time when I get to the apartment, and my fist is testing the strength of the door before I can tell myself this is a bad idea.

"Damon?" Caroline asks when she answers it, a little confused at seeing me when we both know she didn't call me over here to fuck her, but she's trying not to let it show.

"Elena here?" I ask and she swallows, but then brushes it off.

Good, I don't have the patience for the jealousy shit today.

"Sure. Elena!" she calls out and smiles at me before she turns to go somewhere else inside the apartment, leaving the door open.

Her Royal Grace comes out of her bedroom, inconceivably wearing tight jeans and a tighter t-shirt and her eyes widening when she sees me filling up the frame of her front door.

"Damon? What are you doing here?" she asks when she stops in front of me.

"I'm here for our date," I say and smile, though it feels more like a grimace.

"What?" she gasps.

"You know, the one where I lose my shit because you fucking reported me to Jeremy!" I shout and she recoils.

"Okay, you need to calm down," she says slowly, and it only burns me up more. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the fact that if you have a problem with me, you need to say it to my face instead of running off and filing a complaint on me and screwing with my damn job."

She shakes her head. "I didn't report anything, Damon."

"Sure you didn't," I sneer. "Because you're not pissed at all about the fact that I flirted with you and you _liked_ it, and then you caught me with someone else."

She swallows and glances down, and I scoff.

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

Her head snaps up and I brace myself.

"First," she says harshly, "I'm not stupid. I knew what you were doing and I don't know why you even bothered. I don't care how much you flirt with me or try to charm your way into my pants, it's never going to happen."

"What makes you think I even want you?" I hiss, and her chin lifts. "You're a stuck up, frigid bitch with your head so far up your own ass that you can probably smell your own cheap perfume."

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she shouts. "You do not get to come beat on my door and insult me. And here's a newsflash for you, Damon. Want to know why the only thing you can get is a one-night stand? Because no woman wants to be with 24-year-old _boy_ whose whole world is wrapped up in booze and cars and getting off. Grow the hell up."

"Fuck you," I sneer. "You don't know a damn thing about me. And you're what? Twenty-seven? I'll listen to you being all high and mighty when you're _not_ sharing a two-bedroom apartment like you're still in college. Oh, and congratulations on still being unmarried at your age."

"Get off my porch," she seethes at me, her lip quivering and eyes watering. "I don't want you here ever again, and the same goes for Caroline."

I step closer so I'm towering over her. "You don't get to tell me where I go and who I fuck, Elena. Get over it."

"Leave, Damon," she says quietly. "Before I call the police."

I nod. "Right, because why handle your own shit when you can go tattle like a fourth grader?"

"I told you, I didn't report you!"

"Then who the hell did?" I shout, immediately wishing I hadn't.

Because the last thing I want, or need, are the small traces of pity that are overtaking the corners of her eyes and mouth.

She sniffles and hugs her arms around herself, glancing at the ground for a minute before her eyes dare to re-find mine. And when they do, we're both just staring at each other, me still breathing hard from yelling and completely speechless because _dammit_, I believe her.

And that makes me the biggest ass in history. Because I just pounded on her door and accused her of reporting me at work because I thought she was jealous, and she isn't. She has no interest in me, whatsoever.

I showed up at her apartment and called her a frigid bitch, and she isn't that either. Not if she can go from completely pissed off to worried in less time than it takes me to say her name.

God, I don't even know what to do at this point.

I'm too pissed off to consider apologizing and there's nothing I could say anyways. Because she didn't do a damn thing wrong except humor me last night when I was coming on to her and then dealt with me being a dick this morning, and I'm still furious but I have no idea who at, but I _do_ know she doesn't deserve to catch the brunt of it when we're not even friends and what the _fuck _am I doing here?

Worst day ever.

She shifts her weight and sniffles again because I made her cry, and I'm _such_ a piece of shit.

"Fuck!" I grit out and turn to leave.

"Damon, wait," she says softly when I take the first step, and I shake my head, but I still pause with my back to her and I don't know why. "Are you in a lot of trouble?"

I scoff and continue the rest of the way down the stairs. And I don't look when I get in my car, but out of my peripheral vision I see her go inside and close the door.

I really, really don't want to think about how uncomfortable it must be for her to know that I've been inside her apartment, screwing her friend, when she wasn't there.

I wince when I realize I fucked her roommate on the couch she's probably curled up on right now.

I pull away and slam my fist against the steering wheel, because yeah, like work isn't going to be awkward or anything now. At least I don't have to see her until Thursday, because she's always off on Wednesdays.

Ric was right, she doesn't deserve this crap in her life.

If there is a God she will act like none of this ever happened.

God, I need to get drunk. Like right—

Mother fucker.

Red and blue lights just flashed in my rearview mirror and I chuckle humorlessly to myself, pulling off to the side of the road. Awesome. Can't wait to see what ticket I'm going to get that I can't afford.

I try to control my temper while I wait for the cop to run my license plate from inside his car, finally getting out and meandering up to my door five minutes later.

"'Evening," he says when he's at my window. "I'm Office Wallace with the Austin Police Department. May I see your license and registration."

Yeah, that's not a fucking question, but sure, have at it.

I hand him both, tapping my thumb impatiently against the wheel while he checks them over.

"Where you headed, Mr. Salvatore?" he asks and I look at him.

"Home."

"Where you coming from?"

"Friend's. There a problem?"

"I'm going to need you to turn off the engine and step out of the vehicle, please," he says and steps back.

What. The. Fuck.

"Hands where I can see them," he tells me while I unbuckle my seatbelt and open my door, stepping out of the car.

"Maybe I didn't hear you, but why did you pull me over?" I ask as I shut my car door.

He squares his shoulders, sizing me up. "We got a call about a domestic disturbance at an apartment a few blocks back. The man left in a vehicle whose description fits this one."

"Great." I sigh. "Look, got into an argument with a friend over something stupid. She's fine, I left, it's done. I'm going home."

He squints at me. "Wait here."

I roll my eyes as he moseys back to his car, and I lean against mine, crossing my arms.

This is unreal. She better not have called the fucking cops on me.

I take a deep breath and blow it out. I don't need to accuse her of anything else that I don't absolutely _know_. 'Cause look where that got me?

But still, if I find out she's responsible for this… Oh, buddy.

The cop finally comes back and I'm waiting for my all clear when he says, "You been drinking tonight, Mr. Salvatore?"

My eyes widen. "What?"

"How much have you had to drink?"

"Unbelievable," I mumble, then shrug. "Few beers. I'm _not _drunk."

"Then you won't mind blowing into this for me," he says and holds out a Breathalyzer.

"Actually, I do mind," I snap before I think better of it. "And if you think I'm walking in a straight line or balancing on one foot you're out of your damn mind. There's no disturbance, I wasn't speeding and my car is legal. So you gonna let me go, or what?"

"Turn around and place your hands on the car," he growls at me and I grimace, but do as he says. "You carrying any weapons or drugs you want to declare?"

I lock my jaw shut and he starts patting me down, taking my wallet and my employee badge out of my pocket and setting them on the roof of my car.

Yep, real dangerous.

"You familiar with 'no refusal laws'?" he asks and I don't respond, but yeah, I know all about those dirty sons of bitches because they've gotten four of my friends, but never me. "Well, you're about to be."

My brain is screaming "fuck you" and my muscles are shaking, desperate for a fight, and why did I have to go to a bar tonight? Why did I have to go scream at Elena? Why the hell couldn't I have just gone home or gone to Ric's or to the gym or to a dozen places that didn't end up with me on the side of the road, getting felt up by a doughnut muncher while people I know are probably driving by and laughing their asses off?

What the hell is wrong with me?

He takes my right hand and places it at the small of my back, metal clasping around my wrist, and I shake my head as he pulls my left hand to join.

"Mr. Salvatore, you have the right to remain silent…"

Yeah, tell me something I don't fucking know.

* * *

**A/M: DUN DUN DUUUUUUN! I know I know, it's so mean to Damon! (But he kinda deserved it.) Can't wait to hear your thoughts and don't forget to click those buttons, because things only get more AU from here! **

**-Goldnox**


	4. The Scent of Regret

**A/N: Let's see, what does one say when the review count is DOUBLE, MOTHER FUCKING DOUBLE from what I've ever received on any other story and they are all long and crazy enthusiastic and just make me want to buy you all puppies? I DON'T KNOW, BUT I LOVE YOU ALL TOO MUCH! **

**And I love my bestie and beta (in that order), Trogdor19. A dragon of awesomeness who swims with sharks and hacks my shit up because yeah, she's better and smarter, and then lets me pout and then she gives me lots of internet cookies. I must have my cookies. I am cookie monster. And then she writes fantastic chapters for _In Time We Trust_ that make me pout even more because once again, she's a rockstar and FUCK, there is no winning next to her. Go read her shit and you'll see what I mean. *pouts and munches cookie* **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 4: The Scent of Regret**

God, this fucking sucks.

I spent forty-five minutes handcuffed in the back of that damn cop car, breathing in the smell of ass and stale coffee while they searched my Charger. Finding nothing, no surprise to me. I haven't had anything illegal in my car in years, to the disappointment of Barney Fife.

We finally got to the station and after they practiced their skills in contemporary art by processing my fingerprints, it took another two hours before they could get the warrant they needed to draw my blood, because _someone_ refused to cooperate. And even then, their magic poking stick operator was AWOL. They finally scored another one, an eighteen year old trainee who is authorized by the great state of Texas to steal my blood, and what did they find once they got the results back? I'm not drunk.

No fucking shit, genius.

Night ain't over yet though, even though I'm pretty sure it's closer to ten A.M. by this point. They still haven't released me, but only because I think the cop is trying to figure out what he's going to do. He can't get me on a DWI, but since I refused to take the Breathalyzer or Field Sobriety Test, technically they can still suspend my license for 180 days. 'Cause that's exactly what I need right now.

Although it might not even matter because I am also 98% sure I just lost my job.

Thanks, Austin PD.

I was supposed to be at work at nine. If I don't show, and I don't call in, I get booted. I may be able to talk my way out of it, but with the HR bullshit on top of this, I don't see me saying to Jeremy, "I no-called/no-showed because I was in jail," and for his response to be clapping me on the shoulder and telling me to take the rest of the week off, with pay, because everyone knows this crap blows.

I blow out a breath and scrub a hand through my hair, leaning against the cement wall that is probably giving me diphtheria through my shirt while I pointedly ignore the other winners of the night who have taken to calling me "Precious." Like _that's_ not cause for some serious nightmares.

Hindsight is a fucking bitch.

"Salvatore," the cop says, _finally_.

He unlocks the door and I get up and follow him back to his desk, and when I take a seat in a crappy little chair across from him, he looks pissed.

Sucks for him, good for me.

"We're releasing you, and I'm not charging you with a DWI."

"Goody," I smirk and he glares at me.

"I'm keeping your license because of your refusal to take the Breathalyzer or Standard Field Sobriety Test," he tells me and pushes a stack of papers across his desk in my direction. "This is a DIC 25 Notice of Suspension, which means it is your temporary permit to drive until told otherwise. You have 15 days to request an ALR hearing, and then a judge can decide whether to keep you on the road. If you don't request your hearing within that time frame, your license is automatically suspended 40 days from your arrest date. We clear?"

I grin and piss him off more, because I can't help it. "Where's my car?"

"Towed," he says far too pleased, flipping a business card towards me. He also slides over my wallet and my work badge, and my phone which is delightfully dead. "Get out of my building, Salvatore."

I take my stuff and stand, and I almost blow a kiss at him just because I'll get to see his pretty face in two months when he has to show up for my license hearing. The best part is, he'll get to watch when they _don't _suspend my license because I know the law, and he made more mistakes during my arrest than a first grader would've and there's _no way_ this shit is going to stick.

It's going to be expensive, and a pain in the ass, but it's not going to stick.

I head outside and breathe fresh air, rolling my neck and shoulders. Christ, I'm exhausted.

Now comes the fun part.

My car is behind a locked gate and was towed by someone that probably doesn't own a toothbrush, I have no idea how much it's going to cost to pay for the haul and the storage but I'm guessing it won't be less than dinner for the next _month_, and I have no way to get there. I can't call Ric because I actually don't know his number thanks to him being labeled Hairy Dumbass in my cell phone, which is dead, and he's at work anyways.

I head over to a payphone, thanking my old school stars that I carry change on me and I don't even know why I do it, but I always have, and I dial her number.

She answers cheerfully, and that makes me feel like even more of an asshole.

I blow out a breath and make my voice light and chipper when I say, "Hey, Mom. Guess where I am?"

* * *

I take one last drag before I snuff out the cigarette I bummed off a bum when she pulls up outside the police station. An hour later.

She doesn't say anything when I get in her car, which is pretty much an olfactory-induced acid flashback thanks to the familiar aroma of Aqua Net and melted packs of Trident gum, but it won't take her long.

But instead of getting a lecture like I'm still in grade school, I get one hell of a glare before she smacks me upside the head.

"What the fuck, Mom?"

"Don't use that language or I'll wash your mouth out with soap," she snaps at me and I roll my eyes.

And because she swings from one extreme to the other like a high-speed pendulum, she immediately commences with leaning over the console to hug her arms around my neck, petting and kissing my hair like I'm six.

"Okay, okay," I soothe and pat her arm because the woman worries enough to give a valium addict anxiety, and she squeezes me once more before she lets go.

"Damon," she scolds and I wince, "you are too big to be getting in trouble like this."

I sigh and look out the window. "I know," I admit quietly.

Her nails comb through my hair and I hate that it feels good, because she's always, always done this. Whenever I was sick as a kid or when I would get hurt, I'd always fall asleep with her doing that.

"You look tired, baby," she says quietly and it bugs the crap out of me that she still calls me that, but she's never going to stop and weirdly, I think it makes her feel better.

"I _am_ tired. I've been in jail all night and now I need to go get my car and get to work."

"You can't take the day off?"

"No, Mom, I can't take the day off. Can we please go?" I ask and gesture towards the police station that we're still sitting in front of.

"There's no need to be snippy with me."

"I'm not-" I start, then stop when I see that her eyes are a little red, like she's been crying again. They're also puffy like she's not getting enough sleep either.

Dammit.

After all these years, she's still struggling with it, still having nightmares. And then she has to deal with me putting her through this crap. It's not like she has a husband to take care of her. The woman hasn't been on a date since the night the strip turned pink.

The last thing she needs is her only son being a fuck up.

Guilt tugs at the corner of my lips and my shoulders, but I look her squarely in the eye. "I'm sorry," I say sincerely.

"Okay," she nods, and reaches into the back seat, just like that. I almost want to laugh. She pulls out a Tupperware container full of freshly made scrambled eggs and sausage patties and biscuits and hands it to me with a smile. "Where are we going?"

I hand her the business card for the tow company, trading her for a fork she produced out of nowhere and start digging into scrambled eggs, realizing a minute later that we're not moving yet. "The gas pedal is the one next to the brake," I smirk at her and she yanks on her seatbelt, letting it snap back into place.

"These tires don't move unless the seatbelts are all clicked. You know I had that safety feature installed years ago."

I snort because I swear to God, the woman probably thinks I still believe that.

"What about the back seat ones?" I grin and she steals my fork. "Hey!"

"Put on your seatbelt," she growls and I widen my eyes sarcastically, doing as she asks.

"Can I have my fork back, please?"

She hands it over and I shake my head.

"So," she starts a minute later, finally pulling away from the station, and I can't believe it took her this long to ask. "What did you get arrested for?"

"Bullshit," I mutter around a warm biscuit I know she made from scratch because she put cinnamon in it, and she smacks my shoulder.

"You got in trouble for having sex in public, didn't you?" she admonishes and I choke and sputter.

"Jesus Christ, Mom! I'm trying to eat!"

"You're too much like your father," she says and I cock an eyebrow at her. "What? I knew him…"

"Yeah, for two whole minutes."

"It wasn't two minutes," she says and I scoff. "It was a glorious fifteen," she winks at me and I groan, pretending to gag.

"There's something wrong with you…" I mumble.

"Yeah, it's called having a twenty-four year old son who _never_ spends enough time with me-"

"I see you all the time!"

"And won't get married, or even try to find a nice girl to date so I can have a chance at having some grandchildren before I _die,_ and instead, gets arrested for whipping out his pee-pee in public!"

"_Mom!_"

"Eat your breakfast, I'm not done yelling at you," she says and I roll my eyes. "Now where was I? Oh yes, I thought you quit smoking? It's disgusting and bad for you and I don't like it. And do you know…" she continues on and I tune her out.

I know from experience that she can tirade for _a while_ without ever taking a breath, and I think she took a class in how to do it while still being able to function normally. Because she's somehow managing to weave through traffic without missing a beat or a light, _and_ navigate us to a tow yard I've never even been to, simply based off an address on a business card. I've watched her bake and decorate a four tiered wedding cake while reaming me out for getting suspended from school for fighting, and she never smudged a single stenciled rose or vine, not even when she stopped to point her little paintbrush at me. It's borderline impressive.

A few minutes later I finally decide to spare myself anymore torture by placing my hand on her arm, and when she glances at me, I bat my eyelashes at her.

"Thank you for cooking me breakfast, and for picking me up. Best mom ever," I smile sweetly and she melts like a champ.

"You're welcome," she says quietly and I go back to eating in peace. "Now use that charm on a nice girl so I can have some grandbabies!"

* * *

I head inside the building and it is now a sunny three P.M. after dealing with the tow company that completely fucked my rear bumper, because they had no concept of how to tow my car and had the nerve to pull the "It was like that when we got there…" bullshit.

Then it was spending an hour waiting to meet with a lawyer so he could set the date for my ALR hearing so I don't lose my damn license, and nearly having a heart attack at how much this shit is going to limit me buying the rainbow colored drinks that all those pretty girls like.

Looks like me and my hand are going to be getting nice and cozy.

I finally got home and showered and changed, but I haven't slept in something like 30 hours and yeah, I look it.

I swing by Jeremy's desk, but he's conveniently missing, so I head towards my own to wait out the long minutes until I can find out whether I need to bother coming in tomorrow.

And that's when I see the dead last thing I ever expected.

_Elena_ is here, picking at her salad like she's on her lunch break, and when she sees me her eyes grow large and shocked and _dammit_, what is she even doing here? She doesn't work on Wednesdays, and she could've picked up a shift for all I know, but why did it have to be today when I wanted to get fired far, far away from her pitying gaze?

I take a breath and continue towards my desk because honestly, I don't know what else to do. My heart is pounding and _Jesus_, am I sweating? Great. As if last night wasn't bad enough after all the shit I said to her, and then having the pleasure of the whole conversation repeating in my head like the Small World song while I was behind bars, but now I have to see her? And yes, I know that I need to apologize, but I thought I had another day to figure out how I was going to muster that without coming off like an even bigger dick.

Karma, you are a dirty, dirty skank.

I guess we'll add Elena's miraculous appearance to the list currently titled: Ways My Life Sucks.

I finally get to my desk and sit down, turning in my chair to jerk my chin at Ric in a half-assed hello.

"Oversleep?" Ric taunts and Elena blazes into life, throwing her salad down on her desk and jumping up from her chair.

"I…um…I need to talk to you," she says nervously and I sigh.

"Look, can we not do this now?" I say and Ric arches an eyebrow at me before turning away, like he's _not _listening to every single word. Real convincing, buddy.

She ducks her head and tucks her hair behind her ear, and her eyes dart to me. "Damon, I _really _need to tell you something," she says quietly.

"Okay, I get that, but this isn't exactly the _place_ for us to be having that conversation," I say seriously and she huffs, spinning on her heel and walking towards the break room.

I groan and let my head fall back against the chair, closing my eyes for two seconds before I lug myself up.

"Way to stay strong, man," Ric says with his back to me, and I flick his head as I pass by.

She's pacing in the break room when I get there a minute later, looking uncomfortable as all hell.

"Okay," I start and cross my arms. "I know you owe me about two right hooks and kick in the balls for what I said, but really, Elena-"

"I saw you," she says and my brow furrows.

"What do you mean 'you saw me'?"

"Last night, after you left," she says and shifts her weight. "I went to go to the store. And I saw you, you know, on the side of the road..."

Son of a bitch.

I blow out a breath and turn away from her, shaking my head.

"Are you okay?" she asks quietly and I scoff.

"Great. Just peachy."

"I bet," she mumbles. "Look, I'm really mad at you for what you said, but I just…"

"You just _what_, Elena?" I ask, turning back around to face her. "Want to gloat? Go ahead."

"I'm not _gloating_, Damon."

I tilt my head at her. "Did you call the cops on me?" I ask plainly, trying to keep the majority of the accusation out of my tone, but she still rears back as if I raised my hand to her.

"Of course not!"

"Okay," I nod. "Well, if you don't mind…" I say and start to leave, but I don't get a single step away before her voice reels me back.

"You need to go home."

"Excuse me?" I say incredulously, rounding on her.

She stands a little taller and sighs at me. "I didn't think you'd make it in today, when I saw what was happening. And with what you told me last night, I didn't want you to get into any more trouble. So I told Jeremy that I'm working your shift and you're working for me on Friday."

I gape at her.

There's no fucking way I just heard that.

With everything I did, what I said to her, and now she's trying to_ help_ me?

No…something's not right.

People don't just do this…

"Damon?" she prods and I blink a few times.

"Yeah, sorry, I just…didn't get much sleep last night and I think I'm hearing things."

"Yeah," she says softly and looks down. "When did you get out?"

"This morning," I say automatically, still trying to process what she said.

"Were you…" she starts and looks around, her voice dropping to a whisper, "drunk?"

"Yeah…no," I correct. "They thought I was."

"Oh," she says, like she's relieved. "Is that why you got pulled over?"

I smile and shake my head. "Domestic dispute," I tell her and she sucks in a breath.

"Damon, I swear I didn't…it must have been my neighbors, they report every time I close a kitchen cabinet too hard and-"

"I know," I tell her and she looks down at her hands twisting around in front of her. I wait until she looks back at me before I jerk my chin at her and say, "My fault anyways."

"Still…"

"It's fine," I tell her and she purses her lips worriedly.

"Are you in trouble?"

I chuckle. "I'm always in trouble, Elena," I tell her and she cracks a hint of a smile.

"Kinda seems that way."

"Eh," I shrug, "good for my image. Fits the whole bad boy thing I've got going on."

She daintily covers her mouth when a laugh sneaks out, and I can't help but smile.

The day is definitely looking up.

She pulls her hand away, saying smugly, "More like juvenile delinquent."

"I am not that young!" I protest. "And I'll have you know, that was my first experience with handcuffs."

"Somehow, I find that really hard to believe."

I clear my throat, and I know I shouldn't…

Fuck it. It's too good to resist.

"Okay, you got me," I say honestly, "at least the ones that don't come out of a purse with a matching whip."

She gasps and blushes, and I choke back my laugh.

Scandalized is a good look on her.

"Can't believe you just said that," she whispers and I shrug one shoulder.

I stay quiet as I let my eyes steal a full sweep over her: rose-pink lips and long silky brown hair, an emerald cardigan over a white blouse and gray-pinstripe pants, the pointed toes of her one-inch heels peeking out from under the hem.

She looks classy and put together, and something tells me she was probably up at six this morning, getting ready to come into work on her day off so she could cover for me.

The guilt clamps my throat closed, and all I can think about is the way she looked up at me with her eyes sparkling with tears, furious and embarrassed when I made fun of the fact that she's unmarried.

And for the life of me, I can't figure out why she's single. She's considerate and gorgeous and smart, and I can't imagine what she's like when she lets the walls come down. I know there's some fun in there, I've seen it, and she doesn't even like me enough, or trust me enough, to truly be herself around me.

And why should she?

"There are a lot of things I can't believe I say," I tell her earnestly and she swallows, looking down. "Elena?" I say gently and she risks meeting my eyes. "I'm sorry."

She nods. "Thank you," she whispers and for some reason, it feels like a knot just unwound in my stomach that I didn't realize was there until she said that. "You were upset. I would have been too."

"It's no excuse," I tell her and she shifts her weight.

She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders. "Well, you can make it up to me by going home and getting some rest. Because, no offense, but you look _awful_," she says and I chuckle. "And don't be late on Friday. It's eleven to ten, which I know is a late end time for you and if you had plans or something I'm sorry-"

"It's fine," I smile at her. "No plans."

She cocks an eyebrow at me and I return it playfully.

"Okay, well, just don't be late and Jeremy should be in a meeting right now but if he sees you just tell him you forgot something at your desk or whatever and I need to get back," she rattles off in one quick breath.

She starts to hurry away from me and I reach out and snag her hand, her whole body locking in place.

Her gaze drops down to where we're connected before very slowly, her eyes begin to trail up my arm, climbing steadily over my shoulder and past the fold of my collar, tracing the line of my jaw and my mouth until her eyes finally meet mine.

"Thank you," I tell her sincerely, and I can't help but notice the exaggerated rise and fall of her shoulders with how hard she's breathing. I squeeze her hand and sweep my thumb over her skin, and she's so _soft_. I swallow, unable to stop my voice dropping further when I tell her, "I would have lost my job if you hadn't done what you did, and I don't take it lightly."

She bites her lip and looks down again, a wisp of her hair falling forward, and it takes everything I have to keep myself in place instead of tucking it back in. Especially when I catch the breath of perfume it carried, and the mix of dark berries and vanilla is intoxicating.

A little sweet, a little sultry, and certainly a surprise…

It's so…_Elena_.

I clear my throat, but it doesn't begin to help the fogginess in my head because it's going to take something a lot stronger than that to make me forget the smell of her and how it's soaking into me like a mist of beautiful and _God_, what am I doing?

The corner of those pink lips turns up, rich brown eyes flashing up to mine and she looks so pure, so delicate and I can't shake the thought that I shouldn't be touching her.

Not with my hands.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she tells me quietly and I nod, letting her go.

I watch her walk away until she turns the corner, disappearing from my view, and my focus shifts down to my hand: monumentally confused as to why it suddenly feels so cold.

* * *

**A/N: AHHH! The feels-changes are a comin'! Can't tell you guys how much I enjoyed your reviews for the last chapter, especially since a lot of you were betting on a Stefan-sabotage. Y'all are so much smarter and funnier than I am! But alas, Stefan was not our culprit here. Can't wait to hear what you guys think about Damon's mom and Elena coming to the rescue, and keep the guesses for future chapters rolling in! Honestly, I have written way ahead so I can spend dumb amounts of time revising and making sure these chapters are *hopefully* perfect for you, but I love hearing your guesses and it just tickles me orange when y'all get 'em right! (Though I'm not saying anything, and I always have a surprise or two up my sleeve ;) **

**Can't wait to see you next chapter, when we get a little bromance and some dancing, and get to hang out with another fave character from the show that got killed off way too soon in my loud, obnoxious opinion. **

**-Goldnox **


	5. Games I Lose

**A/N: I'VE LOST MY BEJEESUS BECAUSE YOU GUYS ARE TOO COOL! I'm so overly thrilled that you guys all loved his mom! ****Cannot tell you how happy that makes me! ****And I promise, she will be back! **

**All my love to my beta, Trogdor19, who puts up with me being dumb. While scratching fuzzy chins for me. And letting me impersonate a pirate. Like you do. *blows kisses***

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 5: Games I Lose**

I shouldn't be nervous. That's just stupid.

Still…

I blow out a breath as I pull open the door and go inside. I'm a little early for work, but at least I'm not late.

I went home yesterday like Elena told me to, and I pretty much crashed. And I needed it. But I also woke up at four this morning because I couldn't sleep anymore. So I got an extra four hours to think about that whole hand-holding aneurysm thing that happened yesterday.

I still have no idea what the fuck that was about.

I've known Elena for three years now, and I don't get why suddenly things seem to be so different. Why I'm noticing what she's wearing and how good she smells and how soft her skin is. I mean, I see her all the time. I normally don't get that close to her because why would I? And it's not like I haven't touched her before. But I can't remember ever being so affected by it.

It's just _Elena_.

Elena who gets irritated when Ric and I make sex jokes, who grimaces when I curse and who is determined to convince me that Tori Amos and Sarah McLachlan are just as cool as Rage Against the Machine. Three years of her passing her headphones over to me on her break and going, "Ooh! Listen to this one, you'll love it!" and no, I am not convinced.

She wrinkles her nose when I eat red meat or chug a Monster, and she told me in all seriousness that more adults should watch Disney movies because they're just as entertaining and thankfully without being focused on violence and cursing and sex. So I suggested she rent _Watership Down_ because it was right up her alley, animated and all about bunnies, and she got all excited and promised she would. And I know she watched it because she came into work the next day and refused to talk to me for the rest of the week.

Honestly? We're barely friends. We're coworkers. Acquaintances. She doesn't approve of my life and I don't understand how she lives hers without dying of boredom. But she's still cute, and she's a little funny, and I live a good chunk of my existence four feet from her voice and her laugh and her easy grace.

When I leave work, I can still hear the way she says "Aww" and "I'm so sorry" and "I hear an angel in the background…" and even the occasional "We're gonna take a few deep breaths and we're going to get through this, together."

I can't forget how dumbstruck I was the first time I heard her tell someone, "When bad things happen to me, I always think 'Why me?' But you know what I tell myself next? 'Better me than someone else.' Because even though I'm hurting and I'm scared, I'm _alive_. And if that car hadn't hit me, maybe it would have struck someone who wouldn't have walked away, who wouldn't have reacted like I would, like _you_ _did_, and kept everyone safe. It could have been a woman who was nine months pregnant, or someone with kids in the car. And I know this is hard and you didn't need this to happen, believe me, I do, but you're _here_, and I'm thankful for that. That_ I_ got to talk to you."

Does any of that mean that I suddenly want to start holding her purse? Fuck no. But it doesn't mean that I can't appreciate her, or try to be nice, especially after she forgave me for being a total dick to her and completely saved my ass. Ergo, the overly-girly, half of her daily calories and Weight Watcher points, single indulgence she allows herself a week that is currently numbing my hand as I walk down the cubicle aisle towards my desk: A Venti, Cinnamon Dolce Frappuccino with an extra shot of coffee, as if she needs more perking up, and of course it has to be soy milk to combat the two extra squirts of artery-clogging syrup on top of the white froth the menu claimed is whipped cream, but is really more like meringue considering it's pure sugar, all sprinkled with more cinnamon topping so it's basically a gold and white adrenaline rush in a clear plastic cup that Elena is going to recycle.

With my name written in big block letters on the label stuck to the side because I bought it.

An act that was immediately followed by the overwhelming urge to hop on the counter and kick the stack of Kelly Clarkson holiday CD's, rip off my shirt and roar at the blend of yuppies and hippies because I am a man, dammit, and having the snooty college dropout loudly relay my order was fucking embarrassing.

Though possibly not as embarrassing as this is going to be.

Ric and Elena are already here, and one day I'm going to come in at seven just to see if they're actually spending the night at their desks because seriously? It's ridiculous that they get here so early every single day.

I take a sip of my own coffee, wonderfully free of anything _except _for cream like a normal, sane person drinks, and I don't even look at Elena when I place hers on her desk and then sit in my chair, swiveling so my back is to both of them.

Neither of the gawkers is saying anything but I can feel their stares burning a hole into the back of my head, and I am going to ignore them. Yep.

It's not that big of a damn deal. It's just coffee, or something supposed to resemble it.

I fire up my computer and glance at my phone, and I've got eight minutes to kill before the circus starts. If they don't stop acting like I just dropped to my knees and proposed to her, I'm going to lose it.

"Laryngitis going around?" I mutter and Ric clears his throat.

"Good morning," Elena says quietly, a sweet smile in her voice, and I feel the tug of a grin at the corner of my lips with my back safely to her.

But Ric still isn't talking and I need to dislodge the mushroom cloud of awkward before it takes root over us for the next ten hours. I take out my cell phone and YouTube _Pink and Glitter_ by Tori Amos, turning up the speaker volume so it reaches all the long way across the aisle.

The slow piano starts, and I get up and move to stand in front of Ric.

I bow and hold my hand out with a slick grin. "May I have this dance?"

Elena giggles quietly when he slaps his hand over his heart, batting his eyelashes at me when he says in a high pitched voice, "Oh my, I thought you'd never ask!"

He takes my outstretched hand and I pull him up, and he steps into my waltz position like a champ, his hand on my shoulder as I begin to lead us in a slow revolve.

"_Dawn Roses that is what you call  
All the girls in the world, even the thorns.  
You're surrounded by an army of two who adore you…"_

Elena is fully beaming as she watches us dance, her iced coffee concoction nestled in her hands and held closely to her chest like it's something precious.

"_Our joy isn't about a present or a grown up motor toy  
Little boys don't get an honorable mention from me  
But this year I'm thinking  
Shower the world, shower the world  
Shower the world with pink if you please…"_

"Is that Brut aftershave I'm falling for?" I ask smoothly and Ric pretends to giggle.

"Old Spice…"

"Mmm, smells nice," I croon and dip him backwards, and my best friend flips his head back dramatically before I pull him back vertical and yank him closer.

"Ooh la la," Elena teases, and I risk a smirk.

I lead Ric in a tango strut down the length of the aisle, most of the other people we work with all now standing and watching us amusedly, and it only spurs me on more. And apparently it does the same for my buddy because he twists and turns, kicking up a foot behind him and putting on one hell of a show.

I jerk our arms back towards Elena, and while I tango us back to where she's sitting, I say under my breath, "You thinking what I'm thinking?"

Getting a quiet, "Oh yeah," from Ric before Elena can hear us.

We stop back in front of her and make one more slow turn to the piano music still removing my balls, then without a word between us, Ric and I separate and bust out our mad air-guitar skills that would make Bill and Ted jealous, while head-banging hard enough to earn us whiplash like we're at a Killswitch Engage concert and not listening to Tori Amos sing about champagne.

Elena bursts out laughing as she scoots her chair farther away from us, since we're now moshing _inside_ her cubicle and basically have her trapped so she's forced to endure us, while the rest of the claims department cheers us on.

I can only wonder what the people calling in think we're doing, because there's no way they can't hear our insanity over the phones.

* * *

"You looked like shit Wednesday," Ric says when I duck by Jenna at the front door, heading to where he's holed up in the recliner in his living room, the volume of Friday Night Sports Center turned way down.

I pucker a kiss at him and collapse into my spot on the couch. "Thanks, gorgeous. You always lookin' so fine," I drawl and he snorts.

He reaches onto the side table and produces two glasses, both already half full of whiskey. I take mine and raise it an inch in thanks, tossing it back in one wincing gulp.

Today took forever. It was a normal ten hour shift, but starting at eleven A.M. instead of nine and logging out at ten instead of eight really fucked my internal schedule. It was busy as all hell too; I don't know why Elena set up her week to work on Fridays. The place was a war zone and the people calling in were more rude than normal and everyone just wanted it to be the weekend already.

But I'd rather work one of her Friday shifts instead of not having a job, and Wednesdays aren't bad at all. I almost feel better that even though she had to work four days straight instead of having her normal day off in between, she didn't have to put up with the chaos and simultaneously got a three day weekend out of the deal. Who knows, maybe she'll actually take advantage of it and go on a date or at least try to have some fun tonight.

"You ready to spill your guts, princess?" Ric taunts as he takes a sip.

I lean back into the cushions and consider, finally settling on the truth. "Got arrested Tuesday night."

"No shit?"

"Yep. Fucker pulled me over because they ID'd my car after a 'domestic disturbance,'" I say sarcastically, air quotes included, and he snorts. "The bitch of it was, I'd stopped at a bar before raising hell so the cop tried to pop me on a DWI."

"Were you drunk?"

"No," I tell him, and I already know he believes me.

Because his only response is to shake his head before he says, "You refused to blow, didn't you?"

"Damn right I did," I say and he nods once, taking another drink. "Earned me a fancy night of staring at a cement wall with a couple of guys that couldn't count their collective teeth, a ruined rear bumper on my car from the dipshit that towed it, and a court hearing in two months about whether I get to keep my license. Score."

"Aw, that sucks," he chuckles and I glare at him. "Come on, man," he says and leans forward to pour more whiskey in my glass. "Let's get fucking wasted," he laughs.

Ladies and gentlemen, my best friend.

I knock my glass against his and take a drink, letting the liquid burn its way down my throat and into my stomach.

"So," he says, a devious grin on his face that I've known since I joined the track team in high school and even though he was two years ahead, we started hanging out. "Wanna play?"

I groan. "Fuck no. We're too old for this shit. _You're_ too old for this shit," I say and he kicks at me.

"Stop being a bitch. You either play, or you go mow the lawn," he says and takes a deep pull.

I snort. Yeah, mow his lawn at ten-thirty at night. That's brilliant.

"Jenna?" I call out, looking over the back of the couch and she pokes her head into the living room from where she's doing God knows what in the kitchen. "How much did he have to drink before I got here?"

"Spurs lost," she says and I grimace.

He's been a diehard fan _forever_, and I'm fairly surprised he hasn't moved to San Antonio at this point so he could be courtside at every single one of their basketball games. And since they lost, he's probably halfway through the bottle and twenty minutes from passing out and drooling all over himself. Suddenly I'm very thankful I had to work tonight just so I got to miss the whiny, pouty shouting that accompanies every game.

"Don't say the name of that team in this house!" he yells, and Jenna's eyes widen with a grin before she ducks back into the kitchen. Probably not a bad idea.

"Fine, who's dealing?" I sigh and take another drink, and he immediately refills my glass.

"You're dealing, 'cause we're playing Fuck the Dealer and _fuck…you._"

"You're a moron," I mutter and take the deck of cards he hands me.

I shuffle and peek at the top card, and it's a Jack. Dipshit gets two guesses, one hint in between from me, and if he guesses the correct card, I'm chugging. But if he stays true to form and never figures out what card I'm not showing him, his glass is gonna be emptier a lot sooner than mine is. Technically there are a whole bunch of bullshit rules about the number of shots you're supposed to take versus how soon someone guesses the card and blah blah blah, but we never pay attention to that, and I don't know why it's called Fuck the Dealer when Ric is always the one that gets bombed when we play. But alas, here we are.

"What's it gonna be, Einstein?"

"Eight," he says and I roll my eyes.

"Higher."

"King," he immediately says and I arch an eyebrow at him, turning over the card so he sees the Jack. "Fuck!"

"This is pathetic. Like taking candy from a drunk, overweight, scruffy nerfherder baby."

"I am not overweight, asshole," he scowls at me. "I'm hotter than you are."

"The fuck you are," I laugh.

"Jenna!" he yells and she pokes her head out again. "Baby, who's hotter? Me or Dewey Gigolo over here?"

"You are honey, and his name was Deuce Bigalow," she says and when I scowl at her, she flips me off.

"Thanks," I say sarcastically.

"Anytime…_Dewey_."

"Go be useful and mop the floor," I tell her and Ric kicks me again while she heads back into the kitchen.

"Don't talk to her like that or I'll beat your sorry ass like whoever put a whuppin' on you the other night," he growls and I raise my hands in surrender.

Ric has a tendency to get a little momma bear when he's had too much to drink, even though he damn well knows Jenna's practically my sister at this point because I do consider him to be my brother. And she is a sister that is really, really fun to piss off because she can't get rid of me and I've been reminding her of that for five years now.

I actually introduced them because she _is_ the older sister of a girl I was lightly dating a long, long time ago, and Jenna was always kinda around and was a lot more fun to talk to than she was supposed to be. And she's not a bad looking gal, by any means, but she was clearly wearing a sign that read "Not your type" and she totally fit Ric's, so I hooked them up.

Fucker owes me too, because they moved in together something like four months later and have been making googly-eyes at each other every single day since.

I don't remember what happened with me and her sister, and now that I think about it, I can't even decide whether her name was Isobel or Katherine because Jenna has two sisters and one of them is a lot older with a daughter that I apparently mistook for fair game. But the one I dated is never around and that's fine with me because what I _do_ remember is that she was bossy and stuck up, and Jenna is a good cook and feeds me regularly without poisoning my food.

She totally adores me, and completely hates it, and it's fucking hilarious.

"So," I grin, "you're gonna put a whuppin' on me? I hear that right?"

"Would do you good," he mutters and goes to take a drink, frowning when he finds that his glass is empty. I check the next card in the deck and it's a five.

"Go," I say blandly and he stops mid pour.

"This is my house, asshole," he slurs and I roll my eyes. "Oh, game, yeah…"

"Guess a number, dumbass," I tell him when it's clear he has no idea what we're doing. He probably couldn't tell me the day of the week if I asked him. "You know what? Take a drink, just because you suck," I tell him and he snorts, but does it all the same.

"Two! No, three," he says proudly.

"Higher."

"Five," he yells and I turn the card over, showing that, shock of the century, he actually fucking got one. He flips me off and almost falls out of his chair he does it so emphatically, and I chuckle and look down into my glass. And for some reason I can't explain, suddenly that number in my head only seems to translate into the letter count of a certain name. I almost want to ask Ric what the fuck is wrong with me, but there's no damn way I'm bringing up Elena right now. It's already a sore subject and I don't need his sloshy sermon over my lack of manners.

I take a drink and swallow two E's, an L, an N and an A, and I feel every single one of them as they go down.

I really need to find a girl to fuck and get my head straightened out. This fixating shit is getting…itchy.

I check the next card. "Go," I tell him and he squints at me.

"Your turn, douchebag," he taunts. "Or did you forget?"

"Oh for fuck's sake," I mumble. "Jenna!" I yell and I hear her sigh.

"Baby, it's your turn, guess a card," she supplies, because she always plays referee for us. Not a bad thing to have around when we get further down the deck.

"See?" I smirk at him.

"Fine. Queen."

I take a drink just because I need it, and he studies me for a minute, his eyebrow creeping higher and higher towards his hairline.

"What?"

"Let me see the card," he says and snaps his fingers impatiently.

"You couldn't read the words off a billboard right now," I tell him as he snatches the card out of my hands. He looks at it and I narrow my eyes at his grin.

"_Three_, Damon. Not a queen."

I huff and take a drink.

"Something on your mind, buddy?" he teases and flings the card at me. "Little distracted lately? Hmm?"

"You know what, yeah. I was distracted by thinking about how much fun it's going to be when I flood your garage and ruin all eight hundred boxes of your baseball cards," I tell him and he scoffs.

"Liar," he says smugly and leans back in his chair, pulling the handle on the side to raise his feet and stretch all the way out. "It was Elena."

Seriously? I don't get him at all. Not even a few days ago he was telling me to stay away from her.

"Who's Elena?" Jenna asks, prancing into the living room and sitting on Ric's lap because restraining their public displays of affection isn't exactly one of their strong suits.

"Romeo's got a crush on a woman we work with," he grins at me.

"What the fuck?" I burst out, and Jenna's face lights up.

"Ooh, intrigue," she says, crossing her arms expectantly. "She pretty?"

"She's breasts and legs," I tell her and she reaches over to smack me upside the head.

"You're right," she says and glances over her shoulder at Ric. "He's in love."

"He brought her coffee the other morning too," Ric tells her and I chunk a throw pillow at him.

"Damon," Jenna smiles at me, head tilted like I just gave her a dozen fucking roses. "Did you really?"

I roll my eyes and look away, downing the rest of my whiskey.

"Oh my God!" Jenna squeals and I twitch.

"You know what?" I snap. "That 'domestic dispute' I got pulled over for? That was me calling her a bitch on her doorstep."

I grin proudly and both of their jaws drop.

Until Ric lurches forward and Jenna almost falls off his lap, but he catches her at the last minute.

"Tell me you're joking," he growls at me and I put my feet up on his coffee table, holding my glass out hopefully for a refill.

"Nope."

"Get your jerk feet off my table," Jenna admonishes and I cross my ankles instead. "Wait a minute," she says confused and shakes her head. "You said you went over there?"

"Yep."

"_How_ do you know where she lives?" she asks suspiciously, and I don't answer.

"He's sleeping with her roommate," Ric supplies quietly and I shake my glass at him.

"What's a slut got to do to get a drink around here?"

A look flashes over Jenna's face that I don't recognize, but she still takes my glass and hands it to Ric, who sets it down on the side table instead of refilling it.

I pout. "I thought we were getting wasted."

"_I_ thought I told you to stay away from Elena."

"Ric…" Jenna soothes and he waves her off.

"Yeah, well, I didn't," I tell him. "But we made up all nice and friendly, and it's no longer an issue, so you can go right back to pouring my drink."

"The hell I will," he snaps at me. "Dammit, Damon, for once in your life you're going to listen to me-"

"Babe," Jenna cuts in, "there's a dish on the top shelf in the pantry that I need so I can make dessert. You mind getting it for me?" She smiles at Ric and I nearly gag.

Because his whole face kinda melts into lovesick sucker when he tells her, "Sure." She wiggles down and he gets up, patting her ass before stumbling his way into the kitchen. We both watch his retreating back as he rebounds off the doorframe, calling out, "I'm alright!" before disappearing into the kitchen.

Then she attacks.

She's a blur of slaps and smacks to my arm and shoulder and I chuckle and cover myself protectively, because it's not the first time she's gone psycho on me for being a dick, and I'm sure it won't be the last.

"Ass," she hisses and pinches my arm before she sits down in the recliner again.

"Next time you pull that shit, I'm filing a restraining order," I tease, but she does not look amused.

"Jenna, there's no dish in the pantry. It's all food…" Ric mumbles and I snort.

"Top shelf! Real high," she lies to him and something crashes on the kitchen tile. "You listen to me," she whispers threateningly and my eyes widen mockingly. "I'm not sure who this girl is, but if you actually like her and Ric doesn't want you near her, then she must be a halfway decent person and thank Halle Berry for _that_ because God knows you've been with worse. And you better not tell Ric I said this, but sometimes that man is too overprotective and yes, he's tough on you, but only because he cares and despite what he's said in the past, you're not the antichrist, Damon."

"Aww," I croon at her.

"However," she says all lecture-y, "you _cannot_ treat a girl like that if you want a chance with her."

I open my mouth and she holds up a finger in a warning.

"I don't care what she did or said or what happened. Stop screwing around, especially with her _roommate_," she says disgustedly, "and maybe, if you keep apologizing, you'll get somewhere with her. Being in a real relationship is not the end of the world, you know. Oh, and coffee is good, but so are flowers. Save the jewelry for the big screw ups."

"Jenna, it's _gone_," Ric whines.

"I'm not dating her," I whisper harshly.

"Not if you keep that crap up," she says and leans forward, resting her hand on my arm. "Damon, you are a jerk, but you are a sweet jerk and I love you and I, _we,_ want you to be happy. But you cannot call girls you like 'bitches!'"

"I don't like her!"

"Lie to someone who believes you," she says and I lock my jaw shut.

"See? Knew it," Jenna says haughtily as I glare at her.

"Jenna!" Ric yells as something else crashes on the floor in the kitchen.

She sighs and cocks her head at me. "What do you say, slut? You gonna help me wrangle him?" She smiles and gets up, and it takes me second before I remember to follow her.

"Found it!" Ric grins sloppily when he sees us, proudly holding up a box of popcorn.

I lean against the doorframe as Jenna wrestles it out of his hands while he tries to grope her, right in front of me, and I shake my head.

Yeah.

I may be in big fucking trouble.

* * *

**A/N: Oh bromance, how I love thee! Oh Jenna, how I love thee more! And DAMON! I LOVE THEE MOSTEST! Anyone wanna take a guess about how Damon's gonna handle said trouble? Can't wait to hear your answers and thanks so much for the continual enthusiasm, see you guys next chapter when things get a little feisty. ;)**

**-Goldnox**


	6. Inviting Trouble

**A/N: Sunflowers are yellow, bluebonnets are blue, HOLY SHIT HAVE YOU SEEN ALL THESE REVIEWS? You guys are just out of control incredible and excuse me while I go freak out. Thanks. **

**Thank you dearly to Trogdor19 for beta'ing while in paradise, and for having the balls to wield a machete. Even though I want to rip it from your perfect little fingers more often than not. Tell you what, trade you 20k words for a crooked cake... You know you wanna...**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 6: Inviting Trouble**

Seven fifty-seven.

Seven fifty-eight.

Seven fifty-nine.

And…

Fuck.

"Claims reporting, this is Damon."

"_Yeah, I need to report an accident…"_

There's a hell of a lot of noise in the background and dude is definitely on the highway. I can barely make him out over the sounds of cars passing by and people honking. "Okay, I can help you, no problem. You're at the scene of the accident?"

"_Yeah…Jesus, man. This is bad, it's so bad…"_

"Are you hurt?" I ask and he makes a strangled noise.

"_Not me, man…the girl I hit…"_

"I'm glad you're alright," I tell him, and Ric fist bumps me on his way out for the night. I mute my phone real quick and tell him, "I'll be there later," and he waves his hand over his head, not even stopping or looking back at me, and I unmute. "Okay," I tell the guy on my phone, "I need to get some information from you so we can get the claim reported, but first I need your phone number in case we're cut off."

"_Okay…" _he tells me, then sirens blare into the phone speaker._ "The cops are here, and the ambulance just got here too," _he says and I hear a police officer identifying himself, telling him to try to calm down. _"Look man, can I just call back? I need to-"_

"Go ahead, we're here 24/7 and someone will help you get it reported once you're safe."

"_Thanks,"_ he breathes and then the line drops.

Best of luck to you, buddy.

I log out of my phone and close the empty New Claim screen, then shut everything else down. I take off my headset and toss it onto my desk, leaning back in my chair and scrubbing a hand over my face.

"Mondays," Elena says from her desk, and I chuckle.

"You're not kidding," I tell her and stretch my arms above my head with a yawn.

"What are you—" she says, then covers her mouth when she starts to yawn, pointing at me with her other hand. "Don't do that. Unfair," she says, then shakes her head quickly like she's trying to wake up.

I laugh quietly. "What were you saying?"

"Oh, what are you up to tonight?"

Well let's see, I could answer, but I'd need a minute first to find my fucking brain.

What the hell? Is she asking me out?

Nope. No way. Not possible.

I shrug. "Thought I'd try out a new brand of lipstick and wash my hair. Maybe do some lingerie window shopping, the normal."

She laughs and I mentally punch myself in the shoulder. "Well, have fun with that."

"And _you_ are going to be dissecting the engine of a Chevelle Super Sport after getting your tattoo touched up, am I right?"

"How did you know?" she says and bats her eyelashes at me, and something weird happens in my stomach. I'm not even sure if it's a good thing. But it's definitely there.

"Gonna head to the gym," I tell her.

"Runner?"

I make a disgusted face. "_No_. Boxing."

"Oh," she says, intrigued. "That's cool. I used to do a lot of kickboxing before…"

"Before?"

She waves me off. "College. It's a good workout."

"Yeah, well," I say and lean back, proudly indicating my body and she blushes a little, but tries to hide it with another laugh.

No dice, she's still busted.

She shakes her head and resumes packing up her stuff, and ten bucks says she's headed to that travesty of a hookah lounge since it's Monday.

I shouldn't do it.

I need to just let it go.

It's been a long day and I'm barely in her good graces as it is and if she wants to listen to crap poetry and suck smoke, that's her right.

"You're welcome to come with," I tell her, and when her head whips towards me, pure shock on her face, I want to die. "I owe you a few swings at me anyways," I hear my mouth say, and what the fuck is wrong with me? Why did I just bring that shit up?

God, I need a lobotomy or something.

"Oh," she says uncomfortably and yep, definitely going to die. "That's okay, Damon. I don't want to bother you."

I scoff casually. "No bother, but no worries." I grab my phone and keys from my drawer, and when I stand, she's still sitting at her desk.

But the thing that locks me in place is she's biting her lip, watching me too closely.

"I, um, I don't have any…_stuff_," she says like she's embarrassed while tugging at the hem of her sleeve, and I smile.

"Tell you what; you know the 24 Hour Fitness at 12th and Anderson?"

"Yeah…"

"Okay, well that's where I'll be for about the next hour. So if you want to go home and change and meet me there, that's cool. If not, that's fine too."

"You sure you don't mind?" she asks again and I roll my eyes.

"We're just working out, Elena. And I'll be there either way."

I rap my knuckles twice on her desk as I pass by, sauntering calmly towards the parking lot and spinning my car keys around my finger.

As if the only thing in my brain isn't the constant repetition of the words: holy shit.

* * *

I blow out a tired breath and wipe a layer of sweat off my forehead with my forearm before retightening my stomach, going back to wailing on the punching bag.

I strike and jab with every single bit of strength I can wrench out of my shoulders and back and arms, and it feels fantastic and it's such a rush and I definitely needed this after all the crap of last week.

But in my mind I'm only thinking that I've been here for thirty minutes, and she's a no show.

I punch hard enough that the bag flies farther away on the chain than it's supposed to, and when it comes back I grunt under my next swing, knocking it the other direction.

Guess that settles that.

I hug the bag and steady it, catching my breath.

Fuck it. I grab my water bottle, squirting a long, cold stream into my mouth and I should probably just go ahead and leave. I'm tired and ready to drink a beer and relax, and I don't know why I thought—

"Damon?"

Speak of the devil.

I turn towards the door that just shut behind her and _Jesus Christ_, this was a bad idea. Because I'm pretty sure my mouth is on the floor at the sight of her in a high ponytail and a sleeveless little workout top, my cardio requirement for the week firmly completed from God's gift to men in the yoga pants that are melted onto her legs.

I crack a grin and take another drink of water, and she finally spots me. And turns completely red.

Yeah, I should probably put a shirt on. And I didn't do that on purpose, I just never wear one when I'm boxing because I feel too restrained and the staff has never said dick about me breaking their rules, but I _almost_ wish this was intentional.

She straightens her posture before making her way towards me, fidgeting with the car keys in her hand.

"Hey," she says shyly, her gaze conspicuously trained on my face, and I chuckle.

"Hey yourself. Let me grab a shirt," I tell her and she glances away.

"Um, yeah…okay."

I pull a t-shirt out of my gym bag and tug it on, and I hear her blow out a long, quiet breath.

Good idea, bad idea, who the fuck cares? This is gonna be _fun._

"Hand 'em over," I tell her and her eyes widen, then she startles herself into a functioning logic pattern and hands me her car keys. I toss them into the open side pocket of my bag so they don't get lost, and I don't know why, but she bites her lip. "How long has it been since you made something sorry it met you?"

"Huh?"

"How long since you kickboxed?" I clarify and she smiles.

"Oh, a few years, I guess. I mostly do yoga now," she says and I cock an eyebrow, my mouth watering.

I know all about those twisty chicks, and I am a fan.

"Well, let's see if you still got it."

I go to snag some oversized coaching mitts from nearby and when I come back and put them on, taking my place in front of her, she looks nervous. I shake them at her goofily and she huffs a soft laugh, loosening up.

"Come on, cupcake. Gimme your best shot."

"Don't call me that," she says immediately, stretching out her arms and shoulders.

"All part of my coaching plan, princess."

"Damon," she growls and I smile at her. Especially when she widens her stance and bends over at the waist, hugging one of her long legs, and then does the same to the other side.

All grins here, baby.

"Come on, slowpoke," I taunt and clap my mitts together. "This isn't geriatric yoga class, this is the real shit."

She straightens and there is an armory of irritated in those brown irises, which is exactly what I wanted to happen.

"You know, I didn't come here so you could be a crude jerk to me."

"Ooh," I tease. "All the same. Because I bet you hit like a ballerina too."

"Is that right?" she snaps and I flare my eyes.

"Yeah."

She narrows her eyes at me and then she swings, punching the holy hell out of my right palm and yeah, the mitts were a good idea.

"Whoo," I say and shake my hand out, and she smiles proudly.

"Who's the ballerina now?"

"Alright, alright," I nod. "You've got some fire. Let's keep it going."

She sets her stance, hands protectively high, and she tests the distance between us by touching each of her fists to the inside of my mitts. I scoot a little closer.

"Better?"

"Yeah," she says, and she's all focus now. She takes a breath and I can see it settle over her when she locks down, and then she lets loose.

I give her a few words of encouragement here and there, but mostly I stay silent and let her live in the zone for a good fifteen minutes as her adrenaline surges and her hits get harder, her body obviously remembering something it used to do often. She's got a nice rhythm, a decent three-punch set that she's honed and her breathing is good, movements are clean. I don't know who taught her to do this, but they did a fine job.

"Come on, three more," I tell her and she sucks in a breath before she gives me all she's got. "Two… Last one…" I tell her and she knocks the ever loving shit out of my hand.

I hiss with a grimace, and she gasps and covers her mouth with her hands.

"Oh my gosh, Damon! I'm so sorry, are you okay?" she squeaks, and I can't help but laugh as I pull off the mitts. Even though it's really embarrassing that she actually hurt me.

"I'm fine," I assure her and she seems to relax for a moment, then realize she's completely exhausted.

"Okay," she says breathily, leaning over to rest her hands on her knees.

"Uh-uh, stretch," I tell her and she smiles, but still rolls her eyes at me as she straightens. "How do you feel?" I ask as she pulls an arm across her body, then switches to the other side.

"Awesome," she says happily and I nod once. "But awesomely pooped. I forgot how tiring that is," she says and wrinkles her nose, and I don't know what's cuter: the face she's making, or the fact that she just used the word "pooped" to describe her state of being.

When she's done keeping her muscles from tightening up, I hand her the extra towel I grabbed from the locker room. You know, just in case.

"Um, thanks," she says and bites her lip, and I don't know why she's getting all flustered.

She's sweating, so what? That's the whole point.

I snort and turn away under the pretense of grabbing the water bottle so she can dab her "glow" off with my back turned, and when I turn around she is hilariously free of anything resembling moisture. Prissy chicks are ridiculous.

I toss her the water bottle and she catches it, squirting a fair amount in her mouth and if I'm not mistaken, she's still wearing lipstick.

Wow. Talk about uptight.

"What?" she asks and yep, I just got nailed.

Screw it. Might as well be honest. "You're wearing makeup," I explain and she rolls her eyes.

"You think I'm one of _those_ girls, don't you?"

"What girls?" I grin.

"You know, the ones that get all dolled up to go 'work out' which really entails them strutting around the gym so they can meet a hot guy."

"I didn't say _that_," I tell her and hold up my hands in surrender.

"Jeez," she sighs. "I was running late and didn't take off my makeup from earlier today. That's all," she says emphatically and I widen my eyes. "I'm not trying to…"

"Trying to what?" I tilt my head at her innocently, and I barely keep from laughing.

She throws her hands up in exasperation and this time, I _do_ laugh.

"I'm just messing with you," I tell her and she crosses her arms. "I'll be good," I promise and her eyes narrow.

"I find that really hard to believe."

I clear my throat because I'm pretty sure the last time she said that, I followed it up by making a comment about BDSM. I'm also fairly certain she remembers that too, because those cheeks suddenly turn just as pink as her lips.

I decide to give her a break before she bails on me, and I nod towards the hanging Everlast bag. "Want to keep going?"

"You sure?"

"Yeah," I say casually, then slide my mouth into a patented smirk. "No point in wearing pants like that if you don't put the elasticity to use," I say and duck away from her shoving my shoulder.

"Jerk."

"Hey, I meant for you to go after the bag, not _me_," I tell her, and she shakes her head, re-crossing her arms.

"How does Ric put up with you all the time?"

"Because he _adores_ me," I say and bat my eyelashes.

"How long have you guys been friends?"

"High school," I tell her and she smiles warmly. "Sir Burps A Lot was a few years ahead, but we played some of the same sports."

"Is that code for 'working your way through the varsity cheerleading roster'?" she grins, and I steal the water bottle back from her.

"Not _only_," I tell her and take a drink, and she nods once.

"Right."

"Hey Damon," a sugar sweet voice says, and both Elena and I glance at the source. And I don't remember hearing anyone else come in the empty gym, but I guess it's beside the point now. Because there's a blond haired, solid C cup that I'm well acquainted with, strutting past us and swinging her hips in an obvious ploy to flaunt every curve on her body. None of which is left to the imagination thanks to the outfit that's barely covering her.

"Hey Rebekah," I smile politely and she winks at me, heading over to a treadmill. Right, as if that girl has ever ran voluntarily, _except_ to be the one first at Saks when they're having a sale.

I turn to look back at Elena, and no doubt about it, I'm in trouble.

Talk about total bullshit.

I arch an eyebrow at her pursed lips, and she shakes her head disappointedly.

Fucking hell, it's not like I just stuck my tongue down Rebekah's throat or started humping her, I _acknowledged_ her. I barely even checked out her ass, and it's not like I could help doing it. It's a nice ass, and it's being prominently displayed for my viewing pleasure. Why should I let that opportunity go to waste when it's so freely offered and I'm as single as can be? That's just…ungrateful.

Besides, it's not like Elena and I are doing anything, or _are_ anything, that would require me to rudely ignore a friend, and that's all Rebekah is. A friend. Who I sleep with. Occasionally. And I'm nice to my friends, which Elena would know if she would get off her high horse for more than three seconds at a time.

Actually, it doesn't matter, because even if Elena hadn't pretty much flashed a chastity belt in my face, I really don't want to go there when all I see is a big dose of complicated. Even if it is packaged in a hot little body with a soothing voice and killer smile.

The point is, if she's looking for me to act like she's the only person in existence when she's around, she's glaring at the wrong guy.

"Really?" I say, frustrated, and she huffs, glancing down.

"No," is all she says and then she's snatching up her car keys from the pocket of my gym bag.

Jesus, talk about overreaction.

"Thought we were gonna work out?" I test as she straightens, and she narrows her eyes at me.

"We did, and now we're done. Thank you for inviting me, Damon."

She turns to leave and I snag her hand, and she yanks it away from me.

"I'll see you at work. Goodnight," she says quickly, and then she's striding towards the door.

I blow out a breath and scrub a hand through my hair.

Fucking great. Tomorrow is gonna be super.

"Hope your friend didn't leave because of me," Rebekah says from where she's walking on the treadmill, and I glance at her.

You know what? Fuck it. This is _exactly _what I need. I'm done letting Miss America screw with my head, and it's past time to get it straightened out.

I saunter my way over to Rebekah and the corner of her lips turns up when I lean against the front of the machine.

"You are _trouble_," I growl playfully, and she tilts her head.

"Never said I wasn't."

I let her watch as my eyes slowly rake her over, and she super subtly arches her back more to highlight her breasts. Not that it matters, because she's only wearing a sports bra and some teeny tiny black spandex shorts.

"Never gonna get anywhere at that pace," I say and nod to the ultra-low speed setting, and she laughs.

"What, you think I want to be like you? I mean, really, Damon? You are completely covered in sweat." She wrinkles her nose and I wrinkle mine back.

"Happens."

"Sure does," she smiles.

"Hmm," I smirk. "Well, _I'm_ gonna hit the showers. Careful, there are _bad_ people that hang around this gym."

"I'll keep my eye out, thanks," she breathes, and I nod once.

I step away, slapping her ass on my way past her and she squeaks. "Hurry it up," I tell her and she giggles.

I grab my gym bag and head towards the locker room, stripping down and getting into the shower.

Not two minutes later I hear the door open, and I chuckle, shaking my head. I finish lathering down and rinse off, listening to the soft sounds of someone undressing.

"_Trouble_," I tease quietly when soft breasts press into my back, delicate hands winding around my side and sliding down my stomach.

"Like you aren't," Rebekah whispers as her fingers wrap around my cock, and I close my eyes with a peaceful sigh when she begins to stroke me.

* * *

**A/N: *ducks* Okay! I know I know, that was screwed up, but I swear things are gonna get better. Quickly. Ish. Feel free to rant away tho, I know you want to ;) All my love and can't wait to hear your thoughts and comments, and don't forget to hit those buttons because coming up we get some war of words and some supernatural creatures making a surprise appearance and a teensy bit of background on our beloved (probably current detested) Damon Salvatore. Let's see if I can't get you back on his side ;)**

**-Goldnox**


	7. Lions and Leprechauns

**A/N: I'm seriously speechless, once again. Something that doesn't happen quite often. I never expected the response to this story to be so wonderfully vocal and supportive. My deepest gratitude to you all. **

**Speaking of support, we all need to go show some love to Trogdor19. That sweet angel of a sexy dragon had the week from hell when she was challenged by an evil wizard that posed as a knight, and it came in with a cookie that turned out to be a sword on fire and brandishing hurtful words and tried to woo her with daffodils but really it was barbed wire fencing. And we've almost cut her loose, but some scars have been left when it comes to things like whether or not she is actually the fucking master that she is. So do me a solid, my sweets, give her a little love. Confidence is a dangerous thing to lose. _In Time We Trust_ is a great place to leave her a little review love, and you know where else? On Amazon! Because she just published _Sanguine Veritas_ by _Michelle Hazen_, a short story ($1.99) about bloodsharing and truly knowing an individual and love and the power of vulnerability and you should all go check it out. You will not be sorry, it is crazy amazing and will leave your mouth watering and yeah, the cover is stupid gorgeous and I'm a little jelly of that. Love you, little dove. **

**Back to the show! **

**Hope you guys enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 7: Lions and Leprechauns**

I head into the lion's den, and they're both ready to pounce.

Bring it on, fuckers. I am so not in the mood for this shit today.

And yeah, I should probably be feeling pretty good after Rebekah's mouth took very, very good care of me in the shower. A favor I returned happily. But when I tried to go to sleep, all I could see was Elena's disappointed face and that just pissed me off to no end.

So I drank myself to sleep until I woke up sick as all hell at five A.M., and I've spent a good portion of my morning throwing up everything I've consumed in the last month. I finally managed to drag myself to the store and got my hands on some Pepto Bismol, and I think I just downed about half of it in the parking lot.

And all of this, every single bit of it, is Elena's fucking fault.

"What happened to you last night?" Ric asks when I take my seat at my desk, and Elena huffs.

"Ten bucks says she was blond," she says sarcastically and I turn to scowl at her.

"Seriously?" I snap and she leans back in her chair, crossing her arms.

"He usually goes for the brunettes," Ric tells her and she arches an eyebrow at me.

"I've noticed," she says haughtily. "But something tells me he struck out, and downgraded to a blond bimbo."

I lean forward and harden my gaze at her. "Pay her, Ric."

"Unbelievable," Elena mutters.

"So they tell me," I smirk. "Especially Rebekah."

"Am I missing something here?" Ric asks.

"Not as much as Elena is," I say to him, still staring her down.

"You know what?" she snaps at me, and I see Ric flinch from the corner of my eye.

"What?" I taunt. "Come on, sweetheart. Gimme your best shot."

"Okay, okay," Ric says quickly. "Whatever this is about, it needs to stop. Now."

"Yeah, wouldn't want Damon getting in any more trouble than he already is, would we?" she says cheekily, and that fucking does it.

"Is that a threat?"

"What trouble?" Ric asks and I wave him off.

"Damon's got HR hounding him for being inappropriate at work," she grins at me. "Although why they think that's ever going to change has got me beat." She leans forward and drops her voice to a cruel, breathy pitch that I never knew existed. "I doubt he can spell the word inappropriate. It's not like you have any real education, am I right?"

"Fuck you," I tell her and Ric jumps up from his desk.

"Damon, get out," he tells me and I look up at him.

"Why am I the one that's getting put in time out? She's the stuck up-"

"Out," he growls at me. "Go take a walk and cool off or drive around the parking lot or something. I don't care what you do, just go somewhere else for a few minutes before you both say something that's going to get you fired."

"Ridiculous," I mumble and get up.

"Toodle-oo," Elena mocks and wiggles her fingers at me, and _never_ in my life has a woman made me this blindly furious. "We'll call you when you're allowed to rejoin normal, adult society, if you were ever a part of it," she sneers.

"Out," Ric says and shoves at my back.

I'm three steps away when I hear Elena ask Ric, "How can you stand him? He's-"

"Stop right there," he snaps and I smirk.

Rip her apart, buddy. Do us all a favor and shred her down into nothing.

God knows she could use it.

* * *

I am so ready for this week to be over.

Six o'clock on Thursday and the silence is the only reprieve I'm getting, because Elena has barely said two words to me all week. And I have no idea what Ric said to her, but whatever it was must've been good. Because she's barely talking to him either.

Serves her right.

At least he and I are cool. We hung out last night and after he reamed me out for telling Elena to fuck off, which Jenna was super pissed about, he kinda just blew off the rest of his lecture when he admitted that I had every right to be angry. Because that only made Jenna _more_ mad, and they got into it while I sat in the kitchen and quietly ate my lasagna.

They made up after about thirty seconds, and afterwards Jenna came over and scowled at me, then weirdly hugged me, and then she gave me dessert. Whatever.

Now I just need to finish out this day so I can get away from Elena's perfume and her obvious attempts to ignore me, then find another blond to bed.

I almost want to text Caroline. Just for spite. But even I'm not that much of a dick and Caroline doesn't deserve to be used like that. Even if her roommate is a snotty piece of work with a stick firmly lodged up her ass.

"Claims reporting, this is Damon…"

"_Hi, I'm Anna, calling on behalf of Pearl and Frederick Attorneys office, and I need to report a loss for one of our clients."_

Great. Lawyers mean bad shit. Someone's seriously hurt. Or dead.

"Sure, be happy to help." I pull up the policy information she gives me, verifying the driver we insure, the one she's representing. "Alright, Anna. So what happened?"

I lean back in my chair and get ready. Sometimes it's quick, the bare minimum if they're used to this. Other times, if the paralegals are new, I get a full story with three acts.

"_Our client, your insured, Mr. Lockwood, was leaving his girlfriend's house…"_

Movie version it is.

"_And we're not sure why, but he lost control of the vehicle and it rolled when he struck a ditch."_

Ouch. Sucks for you, dude.

Rolled car usually equals a concussion at minimum, because when they land upside down, the next thing they do is unhook their seatbelt and end up hitting their head on the roof. Like clockwork.

I take her through giving me the nitty gritty of the where and the when, the shebang of the damage to the vehicle. Then it's onto the screen that has some information pre-populated for Mr. Awesome Lockwood, and I stifle a laugh when I see the name of the street he lives on. I don't know why city developers name some of the shit the way they do, but it makes my life a little more interesting.

"Okay, Anna. What kind of injuries did he sustain?"

I'm already noting a concussion and transported by ambulance and keeping the field for the name of the hospital open, when I realize she hasn't answered.

She shifts some papers in the background and clears her throat. Definitely a new paralegal.

"Anna?"

"_Mr. Lockwood was pronounced dead at the scene when paramedics arrived."_

I blow out a breath.

Now she fucking tells me.

I've been sitting here mentally laughing about the guy's street name, and guess what? No one lives at his apartment anymore, and his girlfriend is either now single and mourning him, or already fucking someone new because Lockwood's buried in the ground.

I clear the concussion and mark it as a fatality, and just because I didn't look that closely, I check the guy's birthdate.

Twenty-two years old. And he's dead. Because he went to change the radio station or got tired or because his cell phone rang or maybe he was reaching for a bottle of fucking water and his car landed in a ditch.

The ones that make it through a rollover, they tell me it's the strangest thing because it's like they stay righted, but the world spins around them through the windshield. Like keeping your eyes open through the loop on a rollercoaster. And it happens very, very slow. Every detail is retained. Watching the tree line approach or knowing that there are cars on the road behind you and you're just waiting for the impact. And you're still rolling. Getting cut by broken glass and listening to passengers scream, or just the sound of metal groaning against pavement and your own heartbeat echoing in your ears.

God help you if you're not wearing your seatbelt.

And sometimes, God help you if you are.

I'm a thousand percent focused on handling this professionally when she tells me that's what happened to Mr. Lockwood. Twenty-two year old _Tyler_. That the parents are suing the car manufacturer because the seatbelt lock malfunctioned and he couldn't release it, and it was twisted around his neck and caught on the headrest, and it actually strangled him.

And I can't fucking breathe.

He knew. He _knew_ and he was awake and it's not like he died on impact.

He survived the crash. And then he suffocated because no one could help him.

Jesus Christ, I can't breathe.

I can't feel my hands or my arms or my legs or anything but the cold sweat that's streaking down my back and a trickle of it running down my temple and I can't stop seeing his face. You don't witness someone suffocating to death when you're fifteen years old and just forget that shit. It lives in you, every single day.

His eyes wide and panicked, absolutely terrified, and it's done.

It's just…done.

I mute my phone and try to catch my breath, and I hear Ric say my name but I can't deal with him. I have to get this girl off the phone and file this claim and _God_, he's dead.

I take a few deep breaths and unmute, blurring through the last two details I need and telling her the adjuster will call the attorney's office by the end of the day, and I almost forget to give her the claim number and now she wants our fax number so she can send the letter of representation because the law says she has to and goddammit, I can't do this.

I finally get through it and slam my numb and shaking fingers down on my break button, jerking off my headset and tossing it down.

"Damon," Ric says worriedly as I pass, and I brush him off.

I head straight to the restroom and gag into a toilet, choking and sputtering and completely dizzy because I can't throw up because I can't fucking breathe and it's disgustingly appropriate. If Devon can't breathe, why should I be able to?

I lean a hand against the stall door and hang my head, and it takes me a minute, but I'm finally able to feel the air filling my lungs. The bathroom door opens and a couple of new voices reach me, guys laughing about something I don't give a flying fuck about and I spit into the toilet and flush it, scrubbing my hand over my eyes and shaking my head.

I've got to pull this together.

I clear my throat and walk out towards the sink, rinsing my mouth out with water and ignoring the guys that are trying not to watch me.

"Jager hangovers are a bitch," I tell them and they chuckle as I leave the restroom, ducking into one of the abandoned conference rooms and closing the door.

I sit in a chair and lean my elbows on the table, my head in my hands and one name, one face, blaring in my head.

There's a knock on the door and I shake my head.

"I'm fine, Ric. Just need a minute, man."

"It's not Ric," a soft voice tells me, and I wince.

The door opens and I lean back in my chair, my hands dropping to the table and my thumb tapping harshly against the wood. She shuts it behind her, and I barely hear the door latch she does it so gently.

"Not right now, Elena," I say without looking at her, and I don't know if she doesn't hear me or just doesn't care, because she slowly walks around and sits on the opposite side of the table so she's facing me.

She swallows and sets down a Monster in front of me, and I arch an eyebrow.

She claims it's poison in a can and I'm better off drinking gasoline. Is this her way of telling me to drop dead? Because I gotta admit, it's creative.

She stretches her arms out on the wood table top, extended forward like she's reaching for me, but her hands are in fists.

"Pick a hand," she tells me, and I scoff.

"Aren't we a little old for this?"

"Yep," she nods.

I sigh and tap the back of her left hand, and she unwinds her fingers as she turns it over, palm up. I squint and lean forward, and there's something I can't discern drawn onto her skin in blue ink.

I cock an eyebrow at her.

"It's a unicorn," she tells me.

"And why is there a unicorn drawn on your hand?"

"Because I can't draw a leprechaun," she says like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and I feel myself start to barely smile.

I tap the back of her right hand, and she opens it to reveal a rainbow.

I huff a laugh and shake my head, and she smiles.

"Watch this," she says and moves her left hand in an arch over her right. "Ta da!"

"Unicorn jumping over the rainbow?" I confirm and she nods proudly.

"Wanna watch it again? It's a feat of amazement."

"Especially since the unicorn accomplished his leap upside down," I tell her and she scrunches her nose.

"What? No he's…" She trails off when she looks at her hand and realizes his "hooves" are pointed towards her fingertips, but when he made his "leap," she held her hand with her nails directed at the ceiling.

"Upside down," I tell her and she bites her lip.

"Whoops."

"Eh, it was a decent effort," I shrug, picking up the Monster and popping the metal top. I take a sip and she grimaces.

"You really shouldn't drink those."

"You brought it. And why are you bringing me poisonous drinks and performing supernatural feats with imaginary creatures again?"

She tucks her hands in her lap. "You were upset."

"So," I shrug. "You hate me," I remind her, and she winces.

"I don't hate you," she says quietly. "I was angry and I said some things that I didn't mean."

"Oh, you meant them," I chuckle and take a drink, and she narrows her eyes at me.

"I'm trying to apologize."

"Why? You got mad at me, I got mad at you. Shit happens. You don't see me apologizing."

"You know…I'm trying to be nice here, but you're obviously not in the mood to talk about this. Sorry for bothering you," she says dejectedly and pushes away from the table, and I grit my teeth.

Dammit.

"What did Ric say to you?" I ask quietly just as she reaches the door, and she pauses. She turns to face me and when I stare her down, her brow furrows.

Great. Thanks a lot, fucker. Like men can't have secrets, or at least just not blab everything to other people who don't have a right to know any of this shit.

I shake my head and she squares her shoulders.

"He pretty much went off on me for what I said. Which I deserved," she finishes quietly and looks down.

"Uh-huh, feel free to spill the truth any time."

She sighs and heads back to the table, re-taking her seat. "He said…we don't have to talk about this right now, Damon…"

"What did he tell you?"

"He said that you were, _are,_ really smart, but that some bad things happened in high school and it kinda threw you off for a few years. And that's why you never went to college."

Okay, not the worst thing he could have said. He can live another day.

I tilt my can at her and she studies me for a minute.

"You could go to school now, you know. It's never too late," she shrugs and I roll my eyes.

"I don't care, Elena. I'm fine with where I am. Having a degree doesn't make you better than other people."

"You're right," she says quietly, staring at her hands in her lap.

"I didn't mean-"

"No, I know," she nods. "I, um, sometimes…I'm a little snobbish, and I'm working on that."

My eyes widen.

Talk about being honest.

I hold my hand out across the table. "Insensitive, womanizing prick. Nice to meet you," I smile and she takes my hand, shaking it once with a coy grin. "So," I say and lean back in my chair. "How does one work on being snobbish? Isn't that something you're kinda stuck with? Like your eye color?"

"Well, they say the best way is to hang out with insensitive, womanizing pricks, because they're not afraid to put you in your place when you need it."

I chuckle and she blushes.

"So, not to open a can of worms," she says tentatively, and we were _so close_. "I'm sorry I got so upset on Monday. I had no right to leave like that."

"Sure you did," I shrug. "But why did you get so upset?"

"Honestly?" she asks and I nod. "I'm not used to men like you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" I laugh.

"Men that stare at other women's asses when I'm around."

"For the record, I didn't stare. I…looked."

"So you admit it?" she smiles.

"Never denied it."

"See?" she sighs, but she's still smiling. "I don't get how you do that."

"We're just friends, Elena." I tilt my head at her. "Sometimes," I clarify and she laughs softly.

"Okay, but you don't see an issue with checking out another girl when you have one right in front of you?"

"I thought I wasn't supposed to consider you a girl? More like a non-gender entity in my general vicinity…"

She laughs loudly and I grin. "Fair enough," she tells me.

"Besides," I shrug. "The girls I stand in front of know good and well what kind of guy I am, and I don't hang with ones that are susceptible to being offended by an act such as alternate ass scoping."

"Oh, Jesus," she says and shakes her head. "First, I don't think I have ever heard anything so offensive put so eloquently. And second, that's the trick?" she grins. "Spend time with girls that won't care when you're a jerk, so you can be as big of one as you want?"

"Basically," I admit and she rolls her eyes at me.

"So we probably shouldn't hang out anymore," she whispers.

"No, we can hang out," I tell her and the corner of her lips perk up. "As long as we're straight about what's happening."

"And that you're liable to disappear so you can make out with another girl in a bathroom?"

"It was the locker room shower, and we weren't making out," I say plainly, and when she takes a deep breath, I grimace. "That's not what you were referring to, was it?"

"Nope," she says quickly.

There's a quick knock and then the door opens, Ric peeking his head in.

I jerk my chin at him and he startles when he sees Elena.

"Hey, I was just…" he stumbles and Elena flashes a smile at me before she gets up.

"I was just leaving," she tells Ric, and he stands aside so she can pass by him.

He closes the door behind her and I stand, chugging the rest of my drink.

"What was all that about?" he asks and I shrug.

"She apologized. We're cool."

"Not _Elena_, Damon. The call."

"Oh, you know. Rollover." He looks at me a little closer and I clear my throat. "Guy suffocated under his seatbelt."

"Jesus Christ," Ric mumbles and I look away, staring at the whiteboard on the wall that's been wiped clean.

"Yep."

I swallow and look back at him, and he jerks his chin at me. "You…um…"

"Yeah, man. I'm fine," I tell him. "Need to get back."

"Okay," he says and I go to follow him, but he stops with his hand on the doorknob and both of us still in the room.

He suddenly turns and actually _hugs_ me, and it takes me a second before I return it, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Love you, buddy," he tells me and I flinch.

"Thanks, man."

He lets me go and opens the door, and we go back to our desks, neither of us saying a word.

* * *

It's finally eight o'clock and I log out of my phone, printing off the image from my computer.

"See you later," Ric says to me when he heads out, and I grab my keys from my desk.

"I know, squirrels are the worst," Elena tells her customer and mutes her phone. "Goodnight, Damon."

"You okay by yourself?" I ask her, and she gives me a thumbs up.

I smile and lay the piece of paper on her desk, and she picks it up, her mouth stretching into a huge grin. Because it's a children's connect-the-dots worksheet. Of a leprechaun.

"Get to work, because your unicorns are hideous," I tell her and she laughs softly, then unmutes her phone.

"I know, I can't imagine…"

I make an overly-dramatic look of terror and she looks like she wants to laugh again, shooing me away with her hand. I take a step away, then come back and reach under her desk, grabbing her trashcan. I set it out in the middle of the aisle and she blushes.

"Yeah, I don't know why people don't hunt squirrels," she tells the guy and I snort.

I pretend to rack a shotgun and point it at her phone, making all the necessary sound effects of an explosion that I've had perfected since before kindergarten, and she covers her mouth to hide her giggle.

"Goodnight, Elena," I call out loudly. "Don't be late for your dinner reservations," I say and she points at me threateningly.

"No, another Elena…yes…yes, I know what those squirrels will do to an engine's wiring, and it's just awful…" She mutes her phone. "Get outta here!" she tells me playfully.

"Not until we kill the squirrels! _Git 'em! Git 'em all_, _I say!"_

"You're distracting me," she laughs. "Go!"

I hold up my hands in surrender and back away. "Tell him to coat some acorns in rat poison and plant them all over his yard."

"I am not telling him that!" she says shocked, and I shrug.

I turn around and keep walking towards the parking lot. "Death to squirrels," I say to Trevor when I pass him and he high-fives me.

"Screw the furry bastards."

I smile and continue out into the parking lot, frowning when I see my bumper. I really need to get that fixed.

"I know, darlin'," I tell my car when I start the engine. "I'll take care of it, don't you worry."

I head to my apartment and grab my golf clubs, going right back out and heading to the driving range that's open late and only a few blocks from where I live.

The guy that runs it is cool and doesn't try to make small talk with me when I go into the office, paying for my bucket of balls and a beer. He's seen me enough to know I'm only here when I really need it, and it's usually not a good sign.

I head over to an open space that's far from the two other guys that are out here, whacking away their problems, and I pull out my five-iron.

Everyone and their dog loves the seven-iron, the Apple Pie of the mid irons in their bag, but the five is where I call home. And some people will switch them out for the newer designed hybrid clubs, especially chicks, but fuck that. I hit mine with the distance of a short four-iron and the ease of swinging the seven, and it rules my game on the long par 4's and par 5's at the golf courses I favor. I can manage at least 185 yards out of the beast on a good day, longer if I keep the club face low and let the ball roll and roll and roll. But when I'm 330 yards in from my tee after smacking the ever loving shit out of my driver, staring down 140 to the water and 195 to the flag, I flip the bird to the layup and fly that little white ball long and high so she drops on the green and sticks like a magnet, giving me a nice and easy two-putt for birdie.

Thank you, and yes, I will take a bow.

I tee up a ball and roll out my shoulders, loosening up my body for the swing I need. The one I know as well as my walk. The one I've known since I was twelve and started playing.

I line up to the ball and pin point my landing spot on the range, then look down at a dirty white Titleist and blow out a breath. I can't believe I had a fucking panic attack at work. I start my backswing and my shoulders feel weird and my left arm is bent and I stop, stepping back.

I shake my head. There's nothing I can do about it. It's done. It's time to let it go.

I pick up my beer and take a swig, swallowing memories and nightmares and setting it back down.

I do a quick practice swing, and it feels a little better. A few more and I'm starting to remember how it should feel. What grace and power feel like when they are one and the same.

I go back to the Titleist that's mocking me, and I set my five-iron's club face behind it like a warning. I check my end point and then it's all my focus on the ball, on tiny little divots that are going to flex and bend when I show it who's boss. What I can control when everything else is fucked.

I swing and hit it a little thin, but that's okay because _Jesus,_ did that feel good. At least I didn't shank it.

I roll another ball over, not even bothering with a tee, and I line up. I take another swing and this one I hit cleanly, the trajectory starting low and slowly creeping higher and higher under the stadium lights that line the range, soaring over an old Volkswagen Beetle that marks the 150 yard range and dropping down at about 180. I can totally live with that.

Someone behind me starts to quietly clap, and I roll my eyes and bend over to grab my beer. Go to a movie or something, and if you try to talk to me or ask me for tips, especially during my backswing, you're gonna know what that ball feels like.

I set my beer back down, rolling another ball over and glancing down range, picking out where I want it to stick.

"So this is where you spend your time when you're not planning the death of defenseless animals?"

I chuckle and shake my head, and swing. The ball pops up just like I wanted it to, touching the sky before it plummets back down, bouncing off the roof of the VW Beetle.

"Who says I'm not?" I say, turning to face Elena.

* * *

**A/N: I know it's cruel to leave you there, and I'm sorry. Really, I am. But that's why you want to make sure you click those follow buttons, so you don't miss the next chapter! And I can't wait to hear your thoughts, but that leads me to something I want to talk about real quick. **

**Every review is invaluable. I plan to publish this story and your feedback tells me so much: what I'm getting right, what I need to explain more, occasionally, when I push some serious buttons. I truly appreciate every review, good and bad, because those pieces of information are the greatest tools I have to be the best that I can. However, SPAMMING as a guest reviewer will not be tolerated and I will delete them. By all means, if I strike a nerve and you have a serious issue with something I'm saying/doing, please, let me know. Send in a review under an ACCOUNT or send me a PM so I can reply and we can talk about it. Or, if you really have to do it as a guest, speak your peace, and then be done. Sending in multiple reviews that all say the same thing, under the cloak of anonymity? I hate to say this, but you're wasting your time. Although thanks for the bump in the review count ;) Now, that being said, if I see that the majority of readers (i.e. reviewers who I can recognize by their account names) are all having the same concern, then yes, I will take that into consideration. Please understand, I really do love all of your reviews. And 99% of guest reviewers crack me up and are wonderful additions to the color of my daily life, but let's keep it courteous, shall we? **

**All my gratitude,**

**-Goldnox**


	8. A Perfect Miss

**A/N: Good morning, sweets. Happy update Wednesday to you all! I really have to say, again, how unbelievably flabbergasted I am by all of your love and support for this story. So far, (and we're really just in the first 1/3) we've hit more follows than any other story I've ever written. And based on how wonderfully vocal you've all been (lovingly so) we're scheduled to blast my previous review counts out of the water with atomic power. STAND UP AND GIVE YOURSELVES A HAND! And like, buy you some flowers and cupcakes or maybe some pie, if you prefer. All my gratitude.**

**Thank you, Trogodor19, for beta'ing like the wind for me and for continually being amazingly supportive, even as I whine about the same things, every single day. Oh! And for giving in to my obsessive nature over your story, _In Time We Trust_, and emailing me future chapters when I send you shouty screamy emails because I have to know what happens next and I have zero patience. LOL It's good to be a beta. It's even better to have the honor of being yours. Socks! **

**Small recap: Elena has mysteriously showed up at the driving range Damon is chilling at, trying to relax after a bad fatality call sent him spiraling into a panic attack at work.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 8: A Perfect Miss**

_How_ did she find me?

And why is it that even though I just saw her twenty minutes ago and she's wearing the same casual flower-print dress with a lavender cardigan over it, she looks ten times more attractive without a headset covering her loose waves and a gray cubicle wall in her background?

I glance down and see that she ditched her heels for flip flops again, and her toes are painted neon orange.

Fuck, that's cute.

And yep, I'm totally just staring at her like a creep.

Good going, dumbass.

I clear my throat and hope she doesn't bail, though why I even care, I can't figure out.

"Stalking, are we? Seems a little desperate," I tease, and she smiles.

"Well, you know..." she starts and shrugs. "That's what us hippie chicks do."

"So it seems," I grin, reaching to grab my beer.

"Saw your car," she says quietly as I straighten and take a drink, and Elena takes a few hesitant steps towards me, hands clasped behind her back and probably fidgeting like crazy. "So…he's a golfer."

I shrug.

"Seems a little…" She trails off and tilts her head, eyes doing a quick sweep up and down my body and I take another drink, trying to combat the way her doing that just made my throat feel Sahara dry. She bites her lip and finally finishes with, "_Old_."

I laugh and her smile grows, and it's the same one that feels like a reward when I can get her to show it.

"I think that may be the most insulting thing you've ever said to me," I tell her and she tucks her hair behind her ear. "Well done."

"I just mean, aren't you supposed to be sixty-years-old with gray hair and a potbelly, wearing like plaid green pants and beret with a knitted ball on the top? I was sure I saw that on the list of rules when I came in…"

"Then no wonder they let you come back here," I wink.

"Ha ha."

"Golf is for the young and smart and sexy, my dear," I tell her, and her eyes automatically narrow at the endearment. "Surprised you don't play yourself."

"Who says I don't?" she says haughtily and I flip my five-iron over so I can hold it by the club face, extending the grip towards her. And she predictably stares at it like it's a poisonous snake. "Damon, I was just…"

"Come on, badass," I taunt. "You're no ballerina: you're a kickboxing, limb-twisting yoga master." I shrug. "This should be a breeze for the Keeper of the Unicorns."

"How much have you had to drink?" she asks with a grin, and I lean towards her conspiratorially.

"Not nearly enough."

She scoffs and I tilt the club back so it's resting against my shoulder, taking another step towards her and handing her the beer.

"Here, lesson one: beer is the most important tool in any golfer's bag."

She rolls her eyes and takes a sip, and I lightly place my hand on her lower back and lead her to the tee.

The silk fabric of her dress slides a little between my palm and her skin, and Houston, we have liftoff. And I know I shouldn't, but I can't help but wonder what she's got on under her innocent little outfit: white cotton bikini cut? Or maybe an orange g-string to match her toes? On second thought, I'm gonna go with lavender lace boyshorts: comfortable and won't show lines under her dress, but perks her up because she feels a little naughty.

Too bad I won't find out how right I am.

"You're really going to make me do this?" she says nervously once we hit the tee, and I trade her the club for the beer.

"Yep," I say and take a swig, then set the bottle down.

"Where did you learn this, anyways?"

"Had the best teacher possible," I tell her and her eyes widen curiously. "Self-taught."

She huffs a quiet laugh, and I don't know why I like it so much that I can get her to do that.

"Yeah, that reminds me," she says and I tilt my head. "You forgot to add 'enormous ego' in your personality description today."

I scoff. "That's like saying I'm hot. Some things shouldn't have to be explained."

"Oh, Lord give me strength," she mumbles.

I clear my throat. "He can't hear you."

"What?"

"God doesn't listen to golfers," I say seriously. "We take his name in vain too much and with the amount of prayers coming off the course?" I shudder. "It would be like the loudest rock concert on earth for Him."

She giggles and I snatch the five-iron away from her.

"Hey!"

"Change of plans, I don't want you messing up my iron. You want…" I say and turn around, dropping my club in the bag and taking out my driver. I turn around and hold it out to her. "Mr. Big Stick."

"Oh, 'cause we all want 'Mr. Big Stick.'" She rolls her eyes and takes the driver reluctantly, and I snort.

"Yeah, I'm just gonna let that one go," I tell her, and she blushes like crazy. "Alright, you ever played baseball or tennis or anything like that?"

Her mouth slips into a worried frown. "No…"

"Good," I tell her. "Less shit for me to fix."

"So glad I could get your stamp of approval," she says sarcastically, and I smirk.

"Okay, I need you to pay very close attention to me," I say seriously and she straightens a little, looking like she's in class or a meeting or something. "Exactly how flexible are you?"

"Jesus, Damon!"

"See? Golfer already," I say smoothly and she shoves at my shoulder. "I just don't want you to hurt yourself," I explain.

"If those old yuppies can do this, I can," she says sharply and I nod once in agreement.

"That's the spirit," I say with a grin. "Swing."

"What?" she bursts out, completely panicked. "You haven't shown me anything!"

"It's so you can get a feel for the club," I tell her calmly. "Just act like there's a ball, and swing like you've seen on TV or whatever reference you have to go on, that way_ I_ can see what we're working with."

And because this is gonna be better than any form of entertainment imaginable.

"Ridiculous," she mutters and I step back, crossing my arms and watching as she positions herself over an invisible golfball.

She waggles her butt a little and I try to control my grin. Newbies _always_ waggle. Especially women.

She checks down range and bites her lip, both her elbows bent and her shoulders almost touching her ears. She winces and closes her eyes as she starts her backswing, a technical wreck by the time she hits the top and then swings forward, squeaking her surprise when the face of the driver eats a chunk of grass that could feed a cow for a week.

"Yeah, I can't do this," she says all embarrassed and I smile at her, stepping forward and replacing the divot.

"Not bad," I lie. "Just a couple of pointers?"

"Damon," she whines, "this is-"

"Supposed to be _fun_," I finish and step around her side so I'm standing behind her.

I scoot forward a little so I can barely feel the outline of her body against mine, and she just sorta…fits. Her shoulders are narrow enough that I can hide her whole back in my chest, her hair tickling my jaw and my hips matching hers and she smells _incredible_.

"Fun for who?" she mumbles, and I ignore her.

"Okay, my clubs are a little long for you, so choke up your grip a little." I'm looking down over her shoulder, and when my breath brushes her neck, she shivers. I reach around her sides and place my hands over hers, moving them a few inches down the rubber grip towards the ground, reworking the placement of her fingers. "Loosen your hold just a tad, so the club's just resting gently in your hands. No death grips."

"Uh-huh," she says, squirming at how close we are with my arms basically hugged around her, and her little shimmy isn't doing anything but making me glad I'm wearing boxers. Although I wouldn't be surprised if she can still feel my response through the thin fabric of her dress. But she should take that as a compliment.

"Better," I tell her quietly. "Lock your left arm," I correct, and she does as I instruct, "and we're going to keep that tight the whole time."

"How am I supposed to swing if my arm is locked?" she asks and I smile.

"Because, the left arm is your control. The right is just to keep everything steady."

I keep my left hand over hers, pulling our right ones off the rubber grip completely and letting them hang beside her hip. And with my left arm only, I guide her to lightly swing the club back over our right shoulders, and then smoothly back through.

"Huh…" she says breathily, giving me the sneaking suspicion that the elevation I can feel in her pulse has everything to do with me taking control over her movements and _not_ her excitement at the game of golf.

Because as much as she acts like I'm some wet-behind-the-ears constant pain in her ass, she's not resisting me the slightest bit. If anything, she's melting into me.

"See?" I whisper. "You could have one arm and play golf, no problem."

"Nice," she laughs quietly, and I place our right hands back on the club.

"Okay, light grip…good," I tell her when her hands immediately loosen. "Now, when we swing back, keep that left arm straight, and everything else should fall in line naturally."

"Doesn't feel natural," she grumbles.

"Ready?"

"Yep."

I guide her through a slow, full backswing, and my instincts and twelve years of playing have my gaze trained over her shoulder at the invisible ball on the ground. But Elena must be watching the head of the driver come back, because without warning her face turns towards me, soft pink lips brushing my cheek.

She squeaks and jumps, and my hands tighten over hers to keeping the club from dropping, but it also ends up locking her in place.

I glance at her and she's completely frozen, her mouth an inch from mine as she stares at me in shock.

"That's not part of the game, Elena," I breathe and her cheeks blaze, her gaze dropping to the ground. "Left arm locked," I tell her and carefully guide the club back down to strike nothing, taking her through the finish.

She blows out an unsteady breath, and I barely keep from laughing.

"This time, keep your eye on the ball," I tell her and reset us to take another swing.

She delicately clears her throat and shakes out her hair, her ass rubbing against my cock when she waggles.

_Love_ the wagglers.

I take us through the backswing a little quicker this time, and when she hits the top, I stop us in place. "Pause," I tell her and she sighs.

"What now?" she whines, no doubt a little uncomfortable at the angle with her arms extended over her shoulder.

I take my hands off the club and put them on her hips, and she jumps forward out of my reach.

"Seriously?" she snaps, whipping around to glare at me, and I roll my eyes.

"You need to keep your hips forward," I tell her honestly, "and you were all sorts of yoga twisted."

"Like you couldn't have just said that?"

"Well," I shrug, "I'm not one to waste an opportunity." I grin wickedly and she scowls at me. "Oh, come on," I wheedle, "if I wanted to really feel you up, I could've. It's not like I looked down your dress."

She sucks in a breath and glances down, and her cardigan is buttoned up to her collarbone. No view possible.

I smirk at her and she stomps her foot. Ooh.

"You're just-" she starts, pointing at me threateningly, and I cut her off.

"I know, the _worst_," I say dramatically, and she cracks a small grin. "But you're not going to forget to keep your hips forward, are you?"

"Shut up," she says, a scandalized smile escaping her.

"Back to work," I command playfully, and go to retrieve my beer.

I take a drink as retakes the spot she leapt from, and her eyes widen a little when I come back and crouch down in front of her, teeing up a ball.

"Okay, hot stuff…"

"Cool it with the nicknames," she gripes and I roll my eyes, standing up and taking a step back.

"Line up your pumpkin big toe on your left foot with the ball," I tell her, indicating to her with my beer bottle.

"Don't make fun of my nail polish. It's _cute_," she says snootily, but still does as I told her.

"Adorable," I say and bat my eyelashes, and she purses her lips against a smile. "Okay, fair warning: you're going to miss the ball completely when you swing."

"Damon!"

I hold up my hands in surrender. "It's just the truth, everyone misses their first time. If you nick it, I'll buy you a beer."

"You're on," she grins and gets right to waggling. She stops suddenly and her head pops up, eyes narrowing at me. "I can't do this with you staring at me."

I snort. "No dice. You're susceptible to cheating."

"I am not!"

"Are too," I say mockingly, and she pouts at me.

And that shit is just plain unfair, but it's a slam dunk in accomplishing her mission of labeling me as a sucker for doe eyes.

Well played, Elena.

I shake my head and turn around so my back is to her.

"Lock your arm," I tell her and she chuckles softly.

"No peeking."

"Whatever you say."

I wait a second and slyly peer over my shoulder, and she's focused entirely on the ball. And her left arm is actually straight as she hits the height of her backswing, but then her lips pull into a grimace as she swings forward, using ten times the effort necessary and the club sweeps predictably right over the top of the ball with a whisper as it passes by its target.

She sucks in a breath and I turn around to face her, finding her glaring at the ball and glancing at the driver in her hands like it let her down.

"Nicely done," I tell her and extend the beer out to her, and she snatches it with a huff. She takes a deep drink and my eyes widen.

"Now I know why golfers have potbellies," she grumbles and I snicker.

"Not that I was looking," I lie and she arches an eyebrow at me. "But your swing?" I make the hand gesture for perfect and she blushes a little, _while_ rolling her eyes at me and taking another drink of my beer. "I'm serious, Elena," I grin. "Not bad at all for your first time. And now, you have my permission to actually _hit_ the ball."

"Oh Jesus," she mutters and I jerk my chin at her.

"What did I tell you about that?" I warn playfully and she laughs a little before she hands me the beer, blowing out a breath. "Nothing to it," I tell her with a snap of my fingers, and when her eyes narrow at me again, I snort and turn around so my back is to her.

"Don't even get me started on that, Mr. 'I don't know how to snap.'"

"Stop staring at my ass and hit the ball, Elena," I tell her, glancing back to make sure she's not going to smack me over the head with my driver.

But she's lined up and ready to go, and this time when she swings more gracefully than any newbie should be able to, she _connects_ and the ball soars up into the air and down the range, before hooking a hard left about 100 yards in.

"Oh my God!" she squeals, and when I face her, she is completely lit up. "I actually hit it! It flew and everything!"

"And everything," I grin widely. "Sure you haven't done this before?"

"Nope," she says proudly and stands a little taller.

"You wanna go again, don't you?" I chuckle and she bites her lip.

"It's just…yeah, I totally do," she giggles.

"I'll be right back," I smile at her. "Feel free to keep making the rest of us look bad."

"Where are you going?" she asks when I'm a few steps away, and I turn around and walk backwards.

"You think I'm gonna let you drink all my beer _and_ hit all my golfballs? Fat chance. I'm greedy," I wink at her and turn back around, heading into the office.

I get another bucket of balls and two more beers, coming back out to find Elena having a total blast.

I wait until after she's done topping a ball right into the tire of the Volkswagen before I hand her a beer, and she takes it from me with a polite, "Thanks," tapping the bottleneck against mine before she takes a drink.

"Addicted yet?" I ask and she grins, nodding excitedly. "Yeah, tell me about it."

I step away and retrieve my five-iron from my bag, setting up on the space next to her.

"Bet you a taco you can't hit the roof of the car again," she taunts and I peek over my shoulder at her.

"You're on."

* * *

"These are good," Elena mumbles, setting down her hard shell taco made implausibly _without_ any trace of meat, then wipes her mouth daintily with a napkin.

"Not sure how you can say that when all you're eating is lettuce, but sure," I tease and take a bite of my own. Loaded with beef, like any sane human being eats.

It only took an hour to go through both buckets of balls, and another beer each, before we called it quits and moseyed into the office. Well, I strolled, Elena was practically skipping she's so amped up and I don't blame her. She kicked ass and giggled and victory-danced her little booty off the entire time we were out there.

And now here we sit, tucked into the corner of the driving range office that smells like dirt and sweat, sitting in crappy little plastic seats at a patio table that needs to be put out of its misery. But the owner does make some damn fine tacos, and a bet is a bet. One that she totally lost.

"It's not just lettuce," she tells me haughtily. "I also have cheese and tomatoes."

"Ooh," I tell her and flare my eyes, finishing my taco. "Wait a minute," I rattle off around a full mouth, like the classy boy I am. I swallow quickly and try not to choke, and she chuckles at me and hands me a napkin. "You got tomatoes?" I ask, affronted, and she smiles.

"Yep."

"Yo!" I call out to the owner, looking over my shoulder at where he's counting the money in the register. "Where were my tomatoes?"

"She got the last of 'em," he tells me and I roll my eyes.

"Bullshit," I mumble, and Elena giggles as I finish the last of my beer.

"How often do you come here?" she asks, and I shrug.

"Not often enough," I admit and lean back, stretching out and lacing my hands behind my head.

I yawn and shake out my head, trying to wake the fuck up because I'm all full of beer and tacos and relaxed after getting some good shots in and breathing in her perfume for the last hour and a half, and I'm suddenly super sleepy. And sleepy is not sexy.

Not that I'm trying to be sexy, because it's _Elena_ and we're only friends, but I just…whatever.

She sits forward and rests her chin in her hand with her elbow on the table, watching me curiously. "Long day?"

I scoff. "Aren't they always?"

"Sure," she agrees quietly, then looks down at the beer label her other hand is absently picking at. "Can I ask you something?"

Her eyes flash up to mine and I clear my throat.

I'm fairly surprised it took her this long to get to the interrogation, because it only took me about thirty seconds after she showed up to figure out why she had the concrete ovaries to come find me tonight.

"No, I don't wear contacts," I deflect and flare my eyes at her.

She sags a little like she's frustrated with me and folds her arms on the table, because we _both_ know the question that's burning a hole in her tongue and it has nothing to do with the color of my eyes.

"What was that call today?"

I sigh and meet her gaze head on, even though I'm dying to look away. "Just a call, Elena."

"Fatality?" she confirms and I nod once. "Was it bad?"

"Yep," I say quickly and sit forward, gathering all our foil wrappers and napkins and balling them up.

"And you won't tell me?"

I shake my head. "Death usually isn't pretty, Elena," I tell her and her mouth tugs down. "Working next to me probably earns you plenty of nightmares as it is."

I smirk, but she doesn't buy it.

"You don't have to protect me, Damon," she says earnestly, and a little irritated. "I know plenty about death, and sometimes it helps to talk about it."

"Fine, then talk about it."

"About what?" she asks, confused. "You're the one that got the call."

I jerk my chin at her. "I meant talk about whoever taught you so much about death."

"Oh," she says quietly, then her face falls, something dimming in her eyes.

"_Oh_," I repeat, exaggerated.

"I…um…" she fumbles, her hands moving to her lap.

"Exactly," I tell her quietly. "We've all got skeletons in our closet, Elena. No need to dig 'em out in front of a couple of beers and some tacos. The tacos don't deserve that."

"Okay," she nods, staring down at her hands.

"Thanks, by the way," I tell her and she peeks up at me.

"For what?"

"For drawing me a unicorn," I grin and the corner of her lips turns up. "Even if it looked like a squid," I tease and her mouth gapes.

"It did not look like a squid!" she protests, but at least she's smiling again.

"Yeah, it did," I laugh and she wrinkles her nose at me.

"Jerk," she grumbles and sits back, crossing her arms indignantly. "See if I ever perform a supernatural feat of amazement for you ever again."

"Next time, do I get to pick the creature?"

"No, you get a big fat sticker that says, 'Ungrateful Womanizer' in red letters."

"Better than a squid," I tell her and she throws a napkin at me.

"It was a unicorn!"

"If y'all are done flirting about squids and whatever weird stuff you kids are into these days, _I_ would like to go home," the owner tells us and Elena turns beet red, covering her face with her hands while I flip him the bird.

"Losing patrons," I sing-song and get up from my seat, waiting for Elena as she does the same.

I gather all our trash and throw it away, listening to her go over and apologize to the owner for staying so late, and thanking him for making the tacos. And fuck me running if he doesn't fawn all over her, telling her she's welcome back anytime, but his wife is pregnant and as much as he'd love to stay open later, he needs to get home and that just melts Elena like a Milky Way on a dashboard. And then it's ten thousand questions of when is his wife due and is it a boy or girl and do they have a name yet, and God help the guy Elena marries, because I can hear her biological clock ticking all the way from the damn door.

"Elena, let the guy go home," I tease from where I'm leaning against the doorframe, and she blushes, turning back to thank him again before she finally wrenches herself away.

"He's nice," she tells me cheerfully as we head to the parking lot.

"Chatterbox. You are so in the right career," I taunt, setting my golf clubs in the trunk of my car.

"Actually, I have a Masters in Counseling," she says coyly, biting her lip.

I close the trunk, trying to scrape my jaw off the ground. "No shit?"

"Yep," she says, fully beaming. "I'm kinda excited, I just graduated two years ago."

"Then what the hell are you doing taking claims?" I laugh and lean against the side of my car, crossing my arms.

She shrugs, opening her mouth as if to answer, then closes it again.

She finally sighs and gives me, "Complicated."

I arch an eyebrow at her.

"Alright," I nod, not pressing because God knows there's a bunch of shit I certainly don't want to tell her about my life, and fair is fair.

"Thanks," she whispers and glances down.

She hugs her arms around herself, peeking up at me, and _hello_ awkward-goodbye time.

I snicker and that seems to get her to relax, because she rolls her eyes at me with a smile, looking out towards the cars passing by on the street.

It's not like we both don't know what's happening here. And what's not.

"This was a lot of fun," she finally says with a grin I can't help but to match.

"It _was_ fun. We may make a golfer out of you yet," I tell her. "But _no_ plaid pants," I add with a wink.

"Okay," she agrees with a blush. "I guess I'll see you at work..."

"Goodnight, Elena," I tell her quietly, and she blushes a little more before she turns and heads to her car.

I watch her slowly back out, and when I get in and start my own car after she pulls away, I can only wonder what she would've done if I had tried to kiss her.

Probably better for both of us that I didn't.

* * *

**A/N: Whoo! So much fun! When I first started dating my husband, we had many a flirty date at driving ranges... Oh memories... Can't wait to hear your thoughts about Delena's first non-date/date (hint, it won't be the last ;) And I'm LOVING how excited everyone is for Damon backstory, so because I'm feeling like dropping more than one hint this morning, here's a clue: if you follow, you will not be disappointed. Because the Damon backstory reveal/bomb is dropping circa chapter *cough-9-cough***

**Hope to see you guys next chapter!**

**-Goldnox**


	9. Buried In My Closet

**A/N: Howdy my darlings! So, as promised, we have a few answers for you in this chapter! Are we excited? Because I am! **

**My dearest Trogdor19, thank you so much for beta'ing this and for going crazy with enthusiasm over my evil hushed plot developments that I kept from you and for giving me lots of hugs and love and support through my technical tribulations. Don't know what I'd do without you, girl!**

* * *

**Chapter 9: Buried in My Closet**

I ring the doorbell and shove my hands in my pockets as I wait.

Saturday afternoon, and I need a whole lot of _not_-thinking-about-Elena time. If that's even possible at this point because after hanging out with her at the driving range, I can't get her off my mind. What she's doing this weekend, how bad her workday was yesterday, where she's going to magically appear next or if it's technically my turn now and—

Yeah, good job not thinking about her. Yay me.

"Jenna," I smile when she opens the front door.

"This was not my idea," she whispers and my eyes narrow.

"What wasn't your idea?" I ask suspiciously and take a step back from the door.

"You'll see," she softly sing-songs and grabs the front of my shirt, yanking me over the threshold. "Ric!" she calls out and my buddy saunters into the foyer from the living room, looking way too fucking happy about me coming over to drink his alcohol and to make fun of him until one of us passes out.

"Damon," he grins at me and I clench my fingers around my car keys in my pocket.

Fight or flight. Fight or flight.

_Fight_, because I'm not a bitch.

"You're right on time," he tells me and I look at Jenna.

"You let him do drugs?" I ask and she snorts. "And without me?"

She pinches my arm disapprovingly, and I roll my eyes.

"Does someone want to explain what the fuck is-"

"Hi," a sugary voice says from the solid 9.5 currently making her way into the foyer. With a body like that she'd be a 10, but she's blond.

Ric grins at me deviously with his back to her before he pivots, extending an arm out in an invitation for her to come closer. She eyes me appreciatively as she approaches, using every bit of those legs that go on forever because she's gotta be pushing 5'9. I smirk at her when she holds her hand out and I take it and cover it smoothly with my other, and like clockwork, she blushes before I let her go.

"Jules, this is Damon," Ric says eagerly.

"It's so nice to finally meet you," Jules tells me with a smile that ignites a symphony of alarm bells in my head, and I hear Jenna clear her throat.

I hope for Jenna's sake that she's got a decent life insurance policy on Ric, because he's a fucking dead man.

* * *

"So, I finally get back to the warehouse, and in one hand I've got twenty rolls of foil, and in the other is the box of belt buckles, and there are bird feathers just everywhere!" Jules says and Ric bursts out laughing like it's the funniest shit he's ever heard. Good for him, because at least he'll die happy.

I chuckle politely and stand, grabbing my glass and the empty one in front of Jules. "More wine?" I ask and she beams at me.

"Thank you, Damon," she says breathily, practically licking my fucking name and I'm having it changed to Bart as soon as I get out of this house.

I escape into the kitchen, hearing the soft patter of Jenna's footsteps following behind me. I set down both empty wine glasses on the counter, opening a drawer and searching until I find what I'm looking for before I turn to Jenna, who is watching me with more than a little amusement.

"Help a guy out," I plead quietly and hand her the carving knife, the pointy end aimed directly at my chest.

"You're terrible," she smiles and puts the knife back in the drawer.

I groan and drop my forehead onto her shoulder. "You're so mean to me."

"I told you, this was all him," she whispers.

"Why?" I ask and straighten, crossing my arms over my chest, and she arches an eyebrow at me. "I told you, I'm not dating Elena," I hiss. "And even if I was, it's not his decision."

She laughs softly as she refills her own wine glass, then smiles sympathetically at me when I pout at her. She pats my cheek mockingly, then firmly grips my chin.

"Don't even think about it," she warns like she somehow knows I'm counting the seconds until she disappears back into the dining room so I can bolt out the front door. "I made too much food and I'll hear that car of yours, and so will Ric." She pushes my face away and takes a sip of her wine.

"So?"

"Damon," she growls at me and I roll my eyes. "If you are really nice to _my_ friend," she tells me and I grunt, "then I'll make it up to you."

"I appreciate the offer, but I think Ric would be pissed," I smirk.

She ignores me and reaches down to open the cabinet under the sink, and when I check, she's got a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle down there. I go to grab it and she smacks my hand, closing the cabinet.

"Later," she tells me and spins on her heel, sauntering out of the kitchen.

Dammit, this is so fucking unfair. It's already been a life-draining two hours of Jenna's high school friend going on about her life as an assistant to some cracked out artist, her two pug dogs and her being a snotty brat about breeding them, how much she just loved going to some contemporary art festival and how she doesn't understand people that would rather spend their time at a bar than working on their chi and absorbing some culture.

That one I just couldn't help but snort at, and Ric kicked me under the table, but I don't think Jules even noticed because she was too busy picking at her food and asking Jenna if the peas were organic. Seriously? They grow in the goddamn ground, it's not like they were artificially manufactured out of cigarette butts just because they came out of the freezer section at the grocery store instead of being bought at a farmer's market.

I really am trying to be nice, but only because it's _Jenna's_ friend and she's spent the entire afternoon shooting me apologetic looks because she knows that no matter how hot her friend is, and she's _hot_, that I wouldn't waste a single tequila shot on her if my balls depended on it. Not that Jules would drink it, because apparently tequila is for hookers and bums and Miss Fancy Pants prefers white wine. Maybe if I dumped her Chablis all over her she would stop touching my damn arm. But that's only going to earn me another kick under the table because Ric has seemingly decided that this is to be the future Mrs. Salvatore, and excuse me while I look for a chainsaw so I can destroy his recliner in a blaze of revenge.

That total and complete dick is currently running a close comparison to my mother, telling Jules what he thinks are charming and funny stories about me and she's eating them up and I want to die. I don't want her knowing about me winning some dumbass track meet when I was 16 or that yes, I can bake some badass stuff because my mom does, or how our boss is always trying to "promote me" into different departments. I don't want this woman to know my _name._

I sigh and refill both mine and Jules' wine glasses, and the peach of the afternoon comes sauntering in. Joy.

"Oh, Damon, that's too much," Jules says with a fake laugh and picks up the fuller of the two glasses, which was _mine_, and leans against the counter beside me.

I fill up the other glass even more and take a deep pull, and she giggles.

"It's nice to see a man that enjoys wine, instead of guzzling _beer_ like so many do."

I flash a tight smile, praying for the patience to keep my mouth shut so I can earn my bottle of bourbon from Jenna.

"So," she says and tosses her hair, blasting me with a choking amount of jasmine perfume and it makes my eyes water. "Ric says I should ask you about your car. He says it's the love of your life," she says in a husky way that I'm guessing is supposed to make me drool all over her designer shoes. Better luck next time.

"Pretty much," I tell her and take another drink. She arches an eyebrow and I barely refrain from rolling my eyes. "It's a '69 Charger."

"Huh," she says takes a sip. "You know, you should really get a SmartCar. They're so much better for the environment."

Fuck the bourbon and fuck Ric, and I'll apologize to Jenna later. She always forgives me eventually.

"Damon," Ric says as he comes into the kitchen. "Keeping Jules all to yourself?"

God, who _is_ this guy?

"I don't mind," she tells him while batting her eyelashes at me.

"Damon!" Jenna calls out from the living room. "I need your help, I can't reach-"

"Be right there," I say a little too desperately, pretty much running the hell away.

* * *

T minus 6, 5, 4…

"I had a really nice time today," Jules smiles at me beside her SmartCar. The sight of which is making me want to build something big and useless with expensive power tools because _good God _that thing is a vagina on wheels.

I'm only out here because Ric and I almost got into a fist fight over his decision that I was going to walk her out to her car, all the long and dangerous way to the driveway, which I refused to do. I almost wish Jules would've heard the argument and gotten a clue about the fact that she and I are _not _happening, but unfortunately she's still oblivious to everything because Jenna, my favorite person in the world right now, was running interference by talking with her in the kitchen.

"I'm glad," I muster out and Jules looks like she's taking my forced smile as a declaration of my undying love for her. Yeah, okay.

"Maybe next time we can do dinner just the two of us…"

I wink at her because it's the only thing I can think to do that won't be a direct lie.

I am many things, but a liar isn't one of them. I don't tell a girl I'll call her when I won't, I don't make promises I have no intention of keeping and I don't swear that I'm not seeing other women when I am. I may be a prick and a man-slut, but I am an _honest_ slut.

Jules hands me a business card and actually has the nerve to kiss my cheek, and I close her door gently and am heading back through Ric's front door before she's even out of the driveway.

I fling the business card away and make a beeline for my "buddy," and Jenna bounds up out of nowhere and plants herself directly in front of me.

"Calm down," she tells me seriously.

"No," I tell her then glare at Ric over her head as he starts strolling towards me. "What the hell was that?"

"What? Jules is nice," he tells me and gently moves Jenna to the side so she's not between us. "She's smart and accomplished and she's not ugly, Damon."

"Jenna, no offense, but I have no interest in seeing her ever again."

"No offense taken," she tells me, then turns to Ric. "I told you he wouldn't like her…"

I face Ric again. "And what makes you think I want you to set me up on some crap blind date? You could've warned me," I growl at him and he scoffs.

"You never would've showed."

"Yeah, because I don't want to date anyone!"

"Who wants dessert?" Jenna says lightly and we both ignore her.

"Bullshit," he snaps at me. "There's more to life then drunken bimbos, and you know it. Having a girlfriend is not a bad thing, and who knows? A miracle could happen and you may actually find someone that likes you for longer than twenty minutes at a time."

"Checkers, anyone?" Jenna tries. "We haven't played that in forever…"

"Look," I tell him seriously, "if you guys want to get married, then that's great. I'm all for it. I'll make the toast and catch the bouquet and whatever else you want…"

"Thanks, Damon," Jenna says softly.

"But if you think I want any of that shit for myself, you couldn't be more wrong. I like being single and I have no interest in seeing a woman for anything longer than it takes to get her undressed."

"Damon," Jenna scolds and I glance at her.

"You don't count."

"You know what your problem is?" Ric sneers, getting in my face.

"Oh please, Yoda, enlighten me."

"You're afraid of having any responsibility over someone that you care about, because of what happened to Devon!"

Jenna sucks in a breath that I barely register, because I'm too busy paying attention to my fist slamming into Ric's jaw.

I hiss at the crack of my knuckles against bone, and he stumbles back in shock.

_Fuck_, that hurt.

"Damon!" Jenna screams at me and I shake my hand out while she fusses over him, then I turn and head into the kitchen.

I hear him curse while I stand in front of the refrigerator, trying to steady my shaking muscles. I can't believe he just said that. I've known him for almost ten years and he knows better than anyone not to bring up Devon, and some shit you just don't say to people that you supposedly care about.

I take an unsteady breath as my eyes travel over the photographs Jenna has stuck up all over the place. And within the chaos that drives me nuts there are notes and To Do lists and other married-type stuff, but mostly it's just pictures of her and him: decked out in Ranger jerseys at a baseball game; sharing an inner tube as they floated down the Guadalupe River with massive sunburns and under the influence of one-too-many beers; proudly holding the "Sold" sign in the front yard, taken on the day they closed on this house.

There's only one of me and Ric because I'm always the one behind their camera, but Jenna's a sneaky little thing and nestled in with all the other photos is a shot of me and my buddy chilling on the back patio. We'd just finished unpacking the moving truck and decided to celebrate by drinking a beer, and it's the back of our heads as we faced the dead lawn in a couple of shitty beach chairs like a redneck version of a Corona commercial. But somehow she timed it perfectly to catch our fist bump, and our knuckles meeting between the armrests is the focus of the photo.

I shake my head as I open the freezer and grab two bags of frozen vegetables, resting one over the top of my hand and carrying one back to Ric. He avoids my eyes as he takes the bag and holds it against his face, and Jenna looks _pissed_.

"Did you break your hand?" she asks sharply and I shake my head. "And you?" she snaps at Ric, who mumbles that he's fine. "Well? What do you two have to say for yourselves?"

"You know you deserved that," I tell him and he nods once.

"I know."

"Keep going," Jenna tells us harshly and I blow out a breath.

"I appreciate what you're doing," I tell Ric and he rolls his eyes, "but in the future _I _would like to choose the women I date."

Jenna nods approvingly and then turns to Ric. "Your turn."

"Jenna was right, Jules was a bad idea," he admits and this time, I roll my eyes.

Because Jenna immediately softens and lasts a whopping two seconds before she wraps her arms around his waist and squeezes him.

Manipulative suckers, both of them.

"I don't know why you boys can't seem to recognize that I'm smarter than both of you combined," she tells us, her head resting on Ric's chest. "Neither of you ever, ever, listens to me…"

I smile and when she returns it, I tilt my head innocently. "Can I have my Van Winkle now?" I ask and she nods.

"You got him Pappy Van Winkle?" Ric asks jealously, and I sashay backwards into the kitchen while he glances back and forth between me and Jenna.

"Um, yeah! You set him up on a surprise blind date with _Jules!"_

* * *

I head into my mom's house and I'm instantly bombarded by 85 pounds of black and tan fur, a slobbering tongue and a tail about to wag itself right off.

"Hey, Rascal," I say and nudge my—well, now my _mom's_—German Shepherd back down so he has all four feet firmly on the floor instead of two clambering up my chest and shoulders because my boy is a hugger. I've had him since I was fifteen, but he needs space and exercise and a lot of attention, and I'm never home but she always is because she prefers to bake at the house and then just take it all up to the store. Except on Sundays, but I'm not sure what that's about.

"Baby, is that you?" my mom calls from the living room.

"Nope, it's an axe murderer. Run for your life!"

I push Rascal down again and stroll into the living room, finding her sitting on the couch with a blanket on her lap as she watches some old black and white movie. Some Saturday night party she's got going on. I lean over the back of the couch, resting my weight on my forearms, and she smiles up at me over her shoulder.

"You hungry?"

"Nope," I tell her. "Need a favor."

Her brows snap down. "What did you do now?"

"Nothing," I protest. "I just need to borrow some stuff." I swallow. "From my room."

"Oh," she says softly, then pats my arm. "Of course."

"Thanks," I grin and stand up, heading down the hallway.

I ignore the photographs lining the walls and take the familiar left into the master bedroom, making a beeline for the closet.

I hate this room.

I learned to crawl and walk in an apartment, but we moved out of there and into this house when I was ten. And she insisted that Devon and I share the master suite and she take the smaller single room because it's only a two-bedroom house and there were three of us. At the time. And I told her that she was welcome to switch rooms after I moved out, hell, I told her that after _it_ happened, but she won't. I think she hates the room as much as I do because she's a total neat freak, but this room has a thick layer of dust covering it and I can tell she hasn't been in here in forever.

I open the closet door and sigh, leaning against the doorframe. She still hasn't moved his stuff to the attic or even the garage. And I get it, she feels like it's disrespectful to his memory, but I just can't stand to see it. For four years I lived in this room after he died, with half of the room silent and an empty bed pushed against the opposite wall that I would stare at for hours when I was supposed to be sleeping. I finally snapped and boxed up his clothes one day because every time I went to get dressed I was slammed with him, and she was devastated when I did it, but I couldn't take it anymore. It's bad enough I see his face every time I look in the damn mirror.

Honestly, I don't know how she does it, because not once has she ever looked at me and made me think she was seeing him instead. And I will never be able to explain to my mother what that means to me. But then again, she could always, always tell us apart. No one else could because there are identical twins, and then there was me and Devon, but no matter how often we tried to switch on her, she nailed us _every single time_. It's like she had some sort of sixth sense when it came to us. Makes me wonder if she has the parent version of phantom limb syndrome now.

I flick on the closet light and I'm instantly bombarded with his name peering down at me from the trophies and awards that are crowded next to mine on the top shelf. He was all academics because his asthma kept him sidelined while I was out running around in circles, but he didn't care because he loved school. I hated it.

I was restless, and it was _boring_ because everything was too easy since I refused to take the advanced classes they kept trying to shove me into alongside him. They just seemed like a bunch of bullshit hassle and I only wanted to impress girls by mastering the perfect slam dunk because we were always the tallest in our class and I was the only one that could do it. But Devon was obsessed with foreign languages and theater and getting the perfect grade so he could try to graduate early, and he would've, too.

For him it was Dartmouth or bust, and that scared the shit out of me.

There was no way I was interested in going off to some Ivy League college in fucking New Hampshire. And it's not that we had to do the same thing, but we were practically each other's shadows and him moving thousands of miles away? Thanks, brother. Send me a postcard.

You can't just like…rip yourself in half. Or, I guess you can, but then shit gets jagged.

Like having issues playing golf with people that aren't him.

It's the one sport he and I could do together because for the most part it didn't mess with his asthma, and we played every chance we got. Hours and hours we would be out there, just the two of us walking the fairways under the sun where we were protected on either side by trees and we didn't have to deal with people not knowing which one of us was which. We were just free to be ourselves. Who we were individually, but also who we were together as a matched set.

And it was just a normal, kickass day when everything got fucked.

Fifth hole. It was the fifth hole when he stopped being able to breathe. I still don't know what set him off, he just…stopped. And what I really don't understand is how we didn't have a single inhaler between the two of us because he was always so careful, and I had a habit of carrying one on me just in case, but that morning we had been late getting out of the house and somehow, we both forgot.

He panicked when we realized that we had screwed up in a way we never had before, and it sent the attack spiraling out of control. It just…it happened so fast. We were five holes from the clubhouse and four from the turn, and we didn't have a cart because we always walked the course. So I ran.

I left him, because I had to. And I'll never really know how scared he was, but I _felt_ it. I felt it in every single step that I sprinted to save my brother because it didn't matter how hard I pushed and that I reached the clubhouse in record time and screamed at them to call an ambulance, the cavalry of managers coming back with me to where he was collapsed and gasping on the ground, because when I finally got back and fell on the grass beside him, he grabbed my hand. He squeezed it and stared in my eyes with a panic I don't have a name for, and then he was just…gone.

I don't remember much after that. I was a fifteen-year-old kid and I had just watched my identical twin brother suffocate in open air. Shock doesn't begin to cover it. I'm sure they tried CPR and all that stuff, but it was done. It still is.

Nine years, and he's not coming back.

So I'm guessing Devon probably won't mind that I'm going to borrow his golf clubs.

I take them out from where they're buried in the back of the closet, looking them over quickly and they're exactly the same. I check through the pockets of the bag, half-terrified I'm going to find an inhaler I might have missed that day, but there isn't one. Just a couple of golf balls and some tees and his glove. His Dartmouth ball marker that he used for putting. I slide it into my pocket before I hook the bag over my shoulder, turning off the closet light and shutting the door. I don't look at the two empty beds and the matching desks when I walk out of the room, closing the door as quietly as possible.

"Did you find what you needed, baby?" my mom asks as I come into the living room, and I hate that I'm about to do this.

"Yep," I say and head straight for the front door, trying to conceal the bag as much as possible, but it's useless because when my hand lands on the doorknob I know she sees them anyways.

"Are those…" she gasps and I blow out a breath.

"Yeah," I say quietly, turning to face her and swallowing thickly. "Is that okay?"

She smiles at me from where she's sitting on the couch before slowly getting up and walking over to me. "Of course, Damon," she says and looks the bag over. "Haven't seen these in a long time."

"I know," I admit quietly. And I almost apologize, but I don't.

"I didn't know you still played," she smiles at me, head tilted curiously, and I wince. "That's a_ good_ thing, Damon. You boys always loved it so much. I think you both would've slept on that silly golf course if I would've let you."

I huff half a smile.

"You don't have to hide it from me," she says quietly and I roll my eyes.

"I'm not hiding anything."

"Damon," she scolds and I grit my teeth.

"Fine," I admit. "I'm hiding it."

"Why?"

"Because," I say quickly. "It's _Devon_ and I don't want to talk about it and…"

"And you don't want to upset me," she tells me and I shift my weight. "Damon," she sighs, "he was my son and I miss him very much, but _you_ are my son too and I care about what is going on in your life. And if you want to talk to me about playing golf, then I want to hear it."

"Great," I say sharply. "I'll tell you all about it, _tomorrow_."

Her shoulders sag and the corners of her mouth turn down, and I feel like such a prick. "Okay," she nods dejectedly, stretching up on her toes to hug me once before she turns and heads back to the living room.

I walk out the front door and throw the golf clubs in the backseat of my car, and I sit with my keys in my hand for a good three minutes.

Just sitting.

And thinking.

Debating.

I curse and get out of the car and head back inside, Mom's head whipping towards where I just blew through the front door. I walk around and plop down on the couch beside her.

"What are you watching?" I ask, squinting at the screen.

"_Casablanca_."

I reach over and steal the remote from her, turning off the TV.

"Damon!"

"You've seen it a thousand times, and I thought you wanted to know what I'm doing tomorrow?" I taunt and yeah, this is gonna be such a bad idea, but fuck it.

"If you want to tell me, I'd love to hear it," she says sweetly and I drop my head back onto the cushion.

"Fine. Let's go." I stand and snatch the blanket away from her, taking her hand and pulling her up.

"Where are we going?" she asks suspiciously.

"We're going to dinner because you need to get out of this damn house, and ten bucks says you've only eaten tuna fish and saltines all day and that is not food."

"Watch your language," she snaps in a reflex and I widen my eyes mockingly, then start steering her towards her bedroom. "Don't you have a date?"

"I do now unless you're turning me down," I tell her, nudging her into her room. "Purse. Go. Hungry."

She chuckles. "If there are two things that you are, my son, it is a born flirt and infinitely hungry."

"I'm a growing boy!" I tease and she shakes her head, slipping her purse over her shoulder and coming back out to meet me in the hallway.

"_You_ are a lunchbox."

"'Cause you put food in it," I finish the joke and she laughs like she _always _does. "By the way, I'm driving," I say and steal her car keys out of her purse, and she tries to smack me on the shoulder but I dart down the hallway out of her reach.

"Like hell you are!"

"Language," I admonish, holding open the door that leads into the garage where her beat up old station wagon is waiting.

Rust creeping in at the edges, a cement dust pan for an engine and 0 to 20 in an _hour._

Oh yeah, come to daddy.

* * *

**A/N: So, who called it? I'll tell you who: Scarlett2112 NAILED Damon's backstory in a PM she sent me. Bravo to you girl, take a bow! As for Elena's backstory? Well, we'll just have to see when that comes a popping up, and how! *laughs wickedly* In the meantime, can't wait to hear your comments and responses, and stay tuned for LOTS of Delena interaction, seeing as how I totally robbed you of it this chapter. All in good time, my dears. :)**

**-Goldnox**


	10. Favorite Favor

**A/N: YOU GUYS ARE THE BEST! I'm so excited that you all loved Damon's backstory, and are we ready for some Delena cuteness? Then let's do it! **

**All my gushy adoration and appreciation to Trogdor19, for filling my life with fantastic beta comments and chapters of her amazing stories and for being my personal cheerleader and for stacks of emails that all seem to contain the word pie. Fuzzy, leprechaun green colored socks that have meringue either in or on them, whichever you prefer. But may meringue be involved. :)**

* * *

**Chapter 10: Favorite Favor**

I can't believe I'm about to do this, but fuck it.

Here goes nothing.

I knock twice, and wait.

And wait.

God, this is gonna be so—

"Damon?" Caroline says confused when she answers the door, and I smile.

I really don't blame her for being suspicious. It's barely nine in the morning and the last time I showed up unexpectedly, I left Elena in tears. And I have no idea how much Elena's been sharing with her bestie about her after-work activities, but the fact that Caroline's not already screaming at me on her friend's behalf leads me to believe there may have been a girl talk confession or two that are tilting in my favor.

"Good morning," I drawl and she grins hesitantly, crossing her arms over her camisole.

I'd bet that bottle of Pappy Van Winkle I haven't cracked the seal on that Caroline is about ten steps past uncomfortable with me seeing her in pajama pants and no makeup, her normally perfect hair thrown up in a messy ponytail. The whole look is a stark change from what I'm used to with her, not that it's bad. She actually looks a lot better without all that crap caked on her eyes, but even so she's barely registering on my radar.

"So," I say and clear my throat, leaning against the doorway. "To jump straight to awkward, is Elena up?"

Caroline huffs a quick laugh, her smile promising a complete lack of jealousy or anything resembling it, and I could totally hug her for that. "Not yet," she tells me sweetly. "She usually sleeps in on Sundays. I can go get her..."

"Actually, if you don't mind, I'll just…" I trail off and slip by Caroline, heading right to Elena's room.

"_Damon_," she warns with a mischievous grin in her voice, "she's gonna kill you."

"We'll see," I wink at Caroline, rapping my knuckles once on Elena's bedroom door.

"Sleeping, Care," I hear Elena grumble from inside.

"Man on the floor!" I call out and open the door, only sparing half a glance at Elena snuggled in bed under an ultra-fluffy white down comforter before I head to her closet.

"Jesus Christ, Damon! Get out!" she shrieks and I grin, opening her closet door.

I snort when I see it's completely OCD, unlike the rest of her room that is stuffed with way too much furniture for the small space, and all of it overflowing with books and pictures and plants and random, girly shit. But her clothes are arranged precisely by color from light to dark, separated starkly between casual t-shirts and the stuff she wears to work. Freak.

"Caroline!" she yells and I flinch, but keep my back to her, cocking an eyebrow at the eight thousand pairs of shoes all jumbled in a mess on the floor, but her purses are hanging up by order of size. Total whack job. "You let him in here?"

"He just kinda…" Caroline trails off and I turn my head to find her leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and looking incredibly amused.

"You gonna help me, Blondie?" I ask her. "She needs shorts or capris or something like that," I mutter and keep looking through her shirts until I find a couple of different options that would work, hearing Caroline cross the room behind me before she starts pulling out some dresser drawers and rifling through them.

"You! Don't help him!" Elena screeches at Caroline. "And get out of my closet!"

I roll my eyes, pivoting to see her sitting up in bed, her covers clutched to her chest even though I can clearly tell she's wearing a t-shirt. Jesus, it's not like she's naked.

"Stop being so lazy, we're late," I tell her, tossing onto her bed the couple of shirts I grabbed. "Hair in a ponytail, don't bother with makeup because it's hot today and you're gonna sweat it off anyways. Although feel free to brush your teeth." I smile and she glowers at me. "Get up, get dressed, grab some comfortable walking shoes if you can find some, and let's go."

"I'm not going-"

"Chop chop!" I say and clap my hands twice, strolling out of her bedroom.

"Damon!" she shrieks again and I hear Caroline say something to her that I can't make out before she comes out of Elena's bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

"Well," Caroline says dramatically, heading into the kitchen. "That was certainly an interesting way to start our morning."

I snort and follow her, stealing a slice of bacon from her plate on the counter. She smacks my hand and I smirk at her, but then she arches an eyebrow over those baby blues and I roll my eyes.

"Say it," I tell her and she crosses her arms, shaking her messy blond head at me with a smile.

"How many espressos did you have this morning? Because you are like…"

"What?"

"I don't know, _extra_ to the point today."

I shrug. "So let's get to the point."

"Elena's my best friend," she tells me quietly. "And you're a lot of fun…"

"Back at ya," I wink.

"But if you guys are going to be friends, which is fine because Elena needs to have some fun, I just can't…"

"I know," I nod and grab her slice of toast from her plate. "We good?" I ask and take a bite, grimacing at how dry it is. Damn these girls and their health obsession. I don't understand how they'll eat bacon but not butter. Insanity.

"Not if you keep eating my food," she growls playfully and steals her toast back. "Just, be nice to her," she adds in a whisper.

"I'm always nice," I say offended, and she stares at me. "Really?"

"No, you're nice, just-"

"I know, I know," I mumble. "Besties unite!" I say and fistpump. "Or bad things happen to the penis."

"Seriously, what did you have today?" she laughs. "Because I want some."

I snort. "Like you need the extra energy boost," I tell her and bump her hip with mine.

"As if you do!" she teases and I chuckle.

I cross my arms and lean back against the counter, smiling down at her as she cocks an attitude up at me.

"Take care of yourself, Caroline," I tell her quietly, and she blushes.

"You too, Damon."

"_Damon!"_ Elena yells, slamming her bedroom door and both Caroline and I turn to face her as she stomps into the kitchen.

But her hair is in a ponytail, no makeup in sight and she's wearing khaki shorts and one of the polo shirts I picked out for her. I almost want to fistpump again, until she starts pointing at me threateningly.

"If you ever, _ever_, come barging into my bedroom again I _will_ call the cops on you. Do you understand me?"

"Sure," I say quickly. "Caroline? Her purse or whatever else she needs."

"I'm not going anywhere," Elena snaps at me, but she still takes her purse from a giggling Caroline. "And I could have had plans today."

"Your sappy-movie-and-romance-novel itinerary can be bumped for next weekend," I tell her, and Caroline bursts out in laughter.

"Oh my God, how did you know that?"

"Caroline!" Elena bursts out while looking completely mortified, and I hold out my hand beside me, palm up, and Caroline gives me a lateral high-five.

"You can yell at me in the car, we're late," I tell Elena and gently lead her by the elbow to the front door.

"Have fun!" Caroline calls out as I shut the door.

Elena huffs and stomps her whole way down the stairs, not sparing me a glance when I open the passenger side door for her. She gets in and throws her purse on the floorboard, clicking her seatbelt on.

"If I die in a car wreck, I'm suing you," she grumbles when I get in, and I reach into the backseat.

"Good luck with that," I scoff and hand her the Tupperware container with the slice of coffee cake in it that I scored off my mom this morning. I fling a disposable fork wrapped in plastic at her, pointedly ignoring her stunned expression as I hand her the travel mug. "Don't spill coffee in my car or you're cleaning it."

I start the car and pull out onto the street, and out of my peripheral vision I can tell she's still just staring at me.

"What?" I ask and she shakes her head.

"What is all this?" she whispers.

"Sustenance," I tell her, flashing a smile. "You're gonna need it."

"Where are we going?" she asks curiously, the majority of ire gone from her voice and I can barely contain my laugh.

Mom's coffee cake does the trick every single time, and Elena hasn't even tasted it yet. That recipe could probably be passed out during the next World War and it would be Hippie Love Fest in twenty minutes.

Bonus point: no meat in brown sugar, sour cream or cinnamon, and whatever else she puts in it that makes it better than anything else on this planet, so it is safe for Elena's consumption.

"You're really doing me a favor more than anything," I shrug, watching out of the corner of my eye as her lips perk up into an _almost_ smile.

Do-gooder.

I reach over and pop the top off the Tupperware, stealing a chunk of coffee cake and popping it in my mouth. I moan and hit the base of my fist against the steering wheel in ample appreciation before shifting gears because _damn_, that woman can bake. It's amazing I'm not three hundred pounds.

Elena sighs at me for using my fingers, opening the plastic fork wrapper and taking a bite. And immediately moaning in a way that I so want to hear again.

"Coffee," I mumble around a full mouth and she hands me the mug.

"What's the favor?" she asks as I take a sip, passing it back to her so I can shift gears again.

I slow down and stop for a red light and nod towards the backseat, and when she peeks over her shoulder and spies both sets of golf clubs, her mouth gapes. She whips towards me, looking all sorts of surprised and nervous and a _tiny_ bit excited, and I grin and flare my eyes at her.

"You're going to play golf with me."

* * *

Elena gets in the car and slams the passenger door, and I wince, righting my seat after putting the clubs in the back.

"Slam the doors on your own car," I tell her when I sit down and close the driver's side door, _gently_.

"Sorry."

I sigh and turn towards her, taking in her crossed arms and pouted lips. "Alright," I say and wave a hand towards myself, "let's hear it."

"No."

I cock an eyebrow at her and her eyes dart to me, and then she huffs and faces me completely. "It's not fair!"

"Uh-huh," I reply and try to keep from laughing.

"I'm serious! The last hole, the last _freaking_ hole and the ball goes right towards the cup, and then it just stops! Like, a fraction of an inch from going in, and just…ugh!"

"I was there," I tell her and she wrinkles her nose at me.

"There's no need to be so cocky, just because you're like the 'golf wizard,'" she mumbles and I snicker.

"Pretty sure I left my wizard powers at home. My score can back me on that."

She bites her lip. "I didn't think you were ever going to get out of that bunker," she whispers.

"There's no need to remind me," I snap playfully, fully successful in getting a smile out of her.

"Or when you lost two balls in the water on the 12th…"

"Elena," I warn and she laughs softly.

"Oh! And let's not forget-"

"You ready to go?" I interrupt and she leans her head against the headrest, fully beaming at me before she looks out the window.

I take in the sight for a minute before pulling out my car keys and putting them in the ignition.

Today was _awesome_.

Elena has taken to my favorite sport like a fat kid at a buffet. Overall she did really, really well, the weather was great and she totally loved being out there, and my hideous score is a tribute to how much fun it was watching her jump from being overly ecstatic to completely frustrated and then back again. She only griped at me once about my temper when I lost my shit over being buried in a bunker that took me three shots to get out of, and the rest of the time she teased and taunted me, making absurd bets with imaginary pickles.

She listened attentively when I showed her how to read the groove of the green, to look for the curves and bends in the grass, trusting my suggestions in how she should best strategize each hole and what club she should use and how. We talked history and technique, the nuances in the swings of professional players and who my favorite golfers were and why, and she was weirdly fascinated by the overabundance of ridiculous rules and the fact that only recently, women have been _allowed_ to play.

She got super offended when she asked what female golfers I considered to be badasses and I made my opinion on the LPGA more than clear, but I got back in her good graces when I paused our game for twenty minutes so I could YouTube some videos on my phone of female players who I consider to be halfway decent, and Elena has some brand new heroes.

It took us an extended six hours to play all 18 holes, and I probably bored the shit out of her yammering on and on and on, but she never let it show. She just kept asking me questions, and it made it a lot easier to forget that it should've been weirder to have someone next to me on the fairways. Because I haven't played golf with anyone else since Devon died.

"Here," I tell her, pulling the scorecard out of my back pocket and handing it her. "To commemorate your first official round."

It's the standard postcard-sized piece of paper, a picture of the clubhouse and the name of the course on the front, and on the back are the traditional columns that display a small layout of each hole and their distance and par rating. And penciled in underneath in my boxy, serial killer handwriting, are our names and respective shot count.

She takes it with a shy smile, and a softly uttered, "Thank you."

"You are very welcome," I smile back and turn on my cell phone while she tucks the scorecard into her purse.

One text from my buddy Mason, and two missed calls from my mom because she's crazy. I text her that I just got finished and I'll call her tomorrow, and I catch Elena peeking at me and then looking out her window.

Right.

I grin and toss the phone onto her lap, the screen unlocked and showing an open text to my mom, and when she sees it she tries to hide her blush by tucking a loose hair behind her ear.

Real convincing, Elena.

I chuckle and start the car, and she jumps.

"Oh," she says startled. "She's calling you," she tells me and hands me the phone.

I answer it and put it on speaker. "I texted you for a reason…"

"_If I wanted to type, I would get on a chatroom,"_ my mom says and I roll my eyes at a grinning Elena.

"First, you don't need to be in chatrooms, if they even exist anymore. And second, bye."

"_Wait! How did your game go? Did you have fun with your friend? And why do you sound like you're at a monster truck show?"_

"Fine, yes, and because you're on speaker. I'll call you _tomorrow_."

"_Why am I on speaker? That's so impersonal…"_ she whines and Elena covers her mouth with her hands to hide her laugh. _"Hold on. Damon, you're not driving, are you? I don't like it when you drive and talk on the phone in that death-trap car of yours. It's dangerous."_

"I'm not driving. I'm sitting in the parking lot, waiting for you to get off the phone."

"_Oh, good, 'cause I need to talk to you for just a minute. If you can spare a moment for your old decrepit mother."_

Jesus Christ. At least Elena seems to be getting a kick out of this.

"What?" I snap.

"_I'm making my weekly shopping list and next Sunday did you want mashed potatoes and green beans with the meatloaf, or corn and macaroni and cheese?"_

"Seriously?" I ask, completely mortified. "I don't care. And I don't have time for this."

"_Oh, and what pie was it that you wanted? I can't remember if it was the Apple-Blackberry or the Apple-Blueberry?"_

"I…don't…care," I say slowly and Elena smacks my arm. "Look, Mom, I gotta go."

"_What is the big hurry?" _she says, and then a light bulb must go off somewhere because suddenly she whispers_, "Is your friend with you?"_

"Yes, and she can hear you so there's no need to whisper. Speaker phone, remember?"

"_Oh!" _she squeaks_. "Damon, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your date…"_

"Mom!"

"_Bye, baby. I love you, and be a gentlemen and don't drive too fast and wear your seatbelt and I was gonna say something else…"_ she trails off and I hover my finger over the 'end' button.

"Bye," I say forcefully.

"_Bye! Bye Damon's date!"_

I end the call, wondering how fast I can get my hands on a lethal weapon.

Maybe I can get Elena to beat me to death with a golf club because _oh my God._

"So, can we pretend that didn't just happen?" I say to Elena, who is desperately clasping her hands over her mouth.

She pulls them away with a beaming, "Sure."

"Okay. So Option A, I take you home and you bury your nose in a trashy book like all the other cougars," I tell her and she shoves at my shoulder. "Option B, we can go to the lake and hang out with some friends, drink some beer, raise a little hell."

"Sounds like fun," she smiles and I nod once, starting to back out of the parking lot. "So…" Oh fuck, here it comes. "You live with your mom?"

I slam on the brake. "No," I growl at Elena and her eyes widen. "I do _not_ live with her."

"Okay, sheesh," she says quietly, an amused smile on her face. I continue getting us out of the parking lot, and she shrugs one shoulder. "She sounded nice."

"We need to get your hearing checked," I mumble. "All I heard was nag nag nag. _Damon,_" I say mockingly, "stand up straight. Sell your car. Watch your language. Get _married_."

"Oh, wow," Elena laughs.

"She's been trying to get me hitched since the moment I hit puberty, I don't know what her problem is," I grumble. "Actually, I take that back. I know what her damn problem is, I just can't do jack shit about it."

"Seems like you guys are close," Elena says softly, and I shrug.

"She's…she's had a tough run," I say and swallow, checking my rearview mirror before I merge onto the highway that will get us to the abandoned boat dock at the lake. "I see her when I can, until she drives me insane. Which is pretty much constantly."

"Where's your dad?"

I glance at Elena and grin. "I don't think she even knew his name."

She gasps.

"Who says nothing good ever comes from having a one-night stand?" I say and wink at her, and she looks flabbergasted.

"Are you joking right now? Because I can't tell…"

"Not joking," I tell her truthfully. "It's just the two of us."

"Oh," she says softly, something a little sad and a little sweet playing around the corners of her mouth.

"Let me guess. Daddy's a priest?" I tease and she perks right back up.

"Not quite," she smiles.

"Don't tell me he's a cop…" Because yeah, that would be awesome. Not that it matters. But just…yeah.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she grins and bites her lip.

"Try me."

"He's a retired Ranger," she says and leans her head back against the headrest, looking quite comfortable. And smug to boot.

"Please tell me you mean he was a pitcher or a second baseman for the baseball team," I plead and she shakes her head slowly. "He's seriously a Ranger? Like, DPS super cop, star-in-the-badge while carrying a loaded gun, _Texas Ranger _Ranger?"

"Yep, badge and gun and everything."

"That explains a lot," I mumble and she laughs lightly. "Mom a Sunday School teacher?"

"On the weekends," she smiles at me and I shake my head. "She's a botanist, they have a nursery in Pflugerville. But my brother mostly manages it now because my parents just moved out to Wimberly."

"Why does none of this surprise me?" I chuckle. "There's actually a really nice golf course in Wimberly that I've been to a couple of times," I tell her. "You should take Papa Ranger sometime and show him what a badass his daughter is."

"Thanks, I'll check it out," she says and I nod once. "Damon…" she starts, sounding incredibly nervous and uncomfortable, and _why_ did my mom have to use that fucking word? "Is this a date?"

I smile at her casually. "Is there an answer to this question that doesn't land me in a world of trouble?"

She blushes, looking almost relieved. "Okay," she nods. "But just so you know, if it was…" I glance at her and she bites her lip. I kinda love it when she does that. "It'd be a nice one."

I feel myself smile and I look back to the road. "Good to know."

"Though maybe next time, you just tell me beforehand and _not_ barge into my bedroom at an ungodly hour."

I laugh. "No promises," I grin and she shakes her head at me. "Oh, come on, you know you forgive me."

"Barely," she teases. "The coffee cake was your saving grace."

"I'm not sure why you always think I _don't_ know what I'm doing."

"It's not that I think _you_ don't know," she says and I peek at her. "It's just that _I _don't know why you're doing it in the first place."

I clear my throat because yeah, I don't either and right now I'm choosing not to dwell on it for any extended basis. "That sounds a little complicated," I whisper playfully, and she nods.

"My point exactly."

I shift in my seat, gunning the engine more than necessary.

We stay quiet the rest of the drive to the lake, my head swimming with her voice asking the dozens of questions that we _aren't_ voicing. And I have no idea how we got to this point so damn quick, but I'm pretty sure my name is the one written under Responsible Party.

I mean, I've never spent time with a girl like this before, besides maybe Jenna but she doesn't count. My normal protocol is to treat them like creatures that are only awake at night, and during the daylight they disappear into caves that I do not enter because the air becomes poisonous. I don't care about listening to them debate the fabric for curtains and what dishwashing soap is better for their hands and how often to conditioner their hair and when to start using anti-wrinkle cream. But Elena and I don't talk about that stuff.

We talk about real things. Like arguing over whether fist-bumps are cooler than high-fives, if Marlon Brando was sexier than James Dean and what moves are acceptable when constructing your personalized victory dance. We make bets with imaginary pickles.

She's still prissy about language and manners because that's just her, and I think she would probably die if she wasn't nit-picking at something I'm doing that she doesn't approve of. But that's only because I'm comfortable enough around her to be my true asshole self instead of putting on the full-fledged Seduction Show. Which is weird.

Because for some reason, I don't _only_ want to get her into bed. Don't get me wrong, I want her. She's crazy sexy and her long tan legs stretching out in my passenger seat can attest to that, but she's also fun and I _liked_ playing golf with her today. I liked working out with her, and I'm really interested to see how she's going to handle Mason and the gang of misfits I'm about to throw her into.

And that's another thing: I don't take chicks to meet my friends. Ever. They are two separate worlds and I don't mix them because the girls I sleep with very well may be screwing my buddies without ever realizing that we all know each other. We circulate the same bars, and we run the same game. I don't care about crossovers, and neither do they because we all know it's probably happening. But it's just easier for everyone not to take the risk of mixing nightlife with the rest of your normal existence because my friends come first, and I don't need some girl looking at my buddy and giving him a smile that makes me wonder exactly how long ago she was with him, and whether he was better than I was.

Yeah, just no.

But Elena is safe from that stuff, so I took a chance. Although bringing her is like painting a big target on my back for my friends to fuck with me, which they're going to do by flirting with her just to see if they can get me flip out and go all caveman possessive. Because bringing a girl to these things is also the unspoken international warning that if they do come across her somewhere else, to stay the fuck away.

Though that's not why I invited her. I'm not claiming her as mine because we're _not_ dating and she's welcome to do whatever she wants. I just thought she'd have a good time and I was going anyways and I'm just trying to brighten the girl's life up a little and…

Fine. I don't want her sleeping with my friends. There, I said it.

I pull off the gravel driveway that leads down to the old boat ramp, parking in the grass and shutting off the car. The sun is just setting and they're getting a bonfire started by the edge of the lake, most of them probably already a six-pack in and hands are steadily diving into the two big coolers that I know are packed with beer and just enough ice to keep them cold.

Elena chuckles at the sight, unbuckling her seatbelt. "Why do I feel like I'm in high school again?"

"Because they never matured past the age of fifteen," I tell her and she laughs quietly. "Alright, fair warning…"

"Is like the first missed swing thing?"

"Sure." I nod, then blow out a breath. "These are good guys and I've known them forever."

"Okay," she says hesitantly.

"And every single one of them is going to hit on you like you're the only women left on earth."

She bursts out laughing. "No wonder you get along so well."

"I don't hit on you that much," I protest teasingly, and she cocks an eyebrow at me. "What? I said 'that much,' not that I don't."

"Uh-huh," she smiles. "So, why are your friends going to hit on me again?"

"I could give you a long ego-boosting list of reasons, or you could just trust me."

She blushes and bites her lip, looking down at her hands in her lap, and I chuckle and open the door, getting out of the car.

She gets out and walks around the hood to meet me, her hands fidgeting nervously.

"It's gonna be fine," I tell her quietly, and she nods a little. "Come on," I tell her and grab her hand, keeping her beside me as we walk towards the group. Her other hand curls around my bicep as we get closer and I shift our grip, threading our fingers together.

"My, oh my, is it my birthday already?" Mason calls out dramatically when he spies me, grabbing a couple of beers from the cooler and heading our way.

"You ready?" I breathe down to Elena and she squares her shoulders, squeezing my hand.

"Yep."

* * *

**A/N: Are we having feels yet? Because I know two fictional people are, and their feels are gonna get bumped up a notch in the next chapter ;) Which means make sure you guys are following, because we are officially heading into my favorite stretch of chapters. Oh, that reminds me, this story will cap at the 22 chapter mark, just so you know where we are in the overall scheme of things. Can't wait to hear your thoughts on this chapter, (how much do I love Damon's mom? Way too frickin much, I swear I may end up writing that woman her own damn book) and see you guys next chapter!**

**-Goldnox**


	11. That Lovin' Feelin'

**A/N: Happy Saturday morning! All of you have been so sweet, I cannot believe that we are deep in the 500's on reviews and all of your praise about detail and update speed...*clutches chest with goofy look on face* I just...*sniffle* I love you all.**

**Trogdor19, my sweet sweet fearless beta, what is there to say? Other than I adore you, even though sometimes I want to dismantle your machete and bury it in a tar pit, but I won't. May no dolphins throw up on you. *blows kiss (that smells suspiciously like cheer-me-up chocolate chip cinnamon rolls. Yes, that's a thing, husband discovered it and dragged it back to the cave. All Hail cholesterol in a can!)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 11: That Lovin' Feelin'**

"Salvatore," Mason says when he meets us, handing me a beer and giving one to Elena.

"Elena, douchebag. Douchebag, Elena."

"Otherwise known as _Mason_," he says harshly to me then smiles at her charmingly. Yeah, here we go. "Elena, it is wonderful to meet you."

"I'm sure," she smiles tightly at him and I snort, taking a drink.

"Careful, Mason," I tell him. "She's got a right hook like you wouldn't believe."

"Is that right?" he grins and tilts his head at her.

"Yep, maybe I'll show it to you sometime," she tells him and takes a sip of her beer, squeezing my hand.

"Feisty, I like it," he tells her. "Can't wait for you to meet Kol."

I roll my eyes as he bends his elbow out for her to take, but when she peeks up at me questioningly, I smile at her and nod towards him. She blushes and lets go of my hand, hooking her other around his arm.

He grins at me proudly. "Don't worry, Salvatore. I'll take good care of her."

"I'd be more concerned about her kicking your ass," I tell him and wink at her.

I follow behind them as he leads her back to the group, listening to him tell her how glad he is that she came and asking what kind of perfume she's wearing because it's a lovely scent. She glances over her shoulder at me, widening her eyes mockingly, and I chuckle and shake my head. She rolls her eyes at me and turns back to him, telling him with a hint of condescension that it's soap.

"Mason," Klaus drawls as he approaches us. "What divine creature did you find?"

"Wow," Elena deadpans and I barely refrain from laughing, going to stand on her other side.

"Thank you, love," he smiles arrogantly, and she shifts her weight toward me at the unwelcome endearment. "And you are?"

"So not falling for that accent," she tells him and shifts her beer to her other hand to knock her fist against mine.

Klaus' eyes widen, and I stand taller that she had the gall to mock his fading British accent. It's been horribly invaded by a Texas twang after living here for so long, and we all know he loves to use the anglophile fetish to his full advantage. But yeah, she's not swooning one single bit.

"Elena," Mason says sweetly, "this is Klaus. Feel free to demonstrate that right hook of yours anytime, sweetheart."

"On either one of these impish fools, if you would do us the courtesy," Klaus adds. "So, what brings us the pleasure of your company this fine evening?"

"You really weren't kidding, were you?" she grins at me and I shake my head.

"Nope."

"Smart strategy, comparison wise," she tells me and I cross my arms.

"Let me know how that works out for you."

"You're here with Damon?" Klaus confirms and she raises her chin at him.

"He brought her, but only because she wanted to meet _me_," Mason tells him, tugging her a little closer to him just as Kol and Elijah saunter up.

"Hey," I say and jerk my chin at them, Kol eyeing Elena hungrily and Elijah smacking him on the head when he catches him doing it.

"Brothers," Klaus says, "allow me to introduce the delightful Elena."

"These are the other two pond hoppers: Kol and Elijah," I tell her.

"Very nice to meet you, Elena," Elijah tells her politely. "I hope these boys aren't giving you too much trouble."

"Not anything I wouldn't expect from a bunch of boys_,_" she smiles at him.

"Darling, don't you worry," Kol grins at her. "I'll set them straight for you. Like a real man does."

"She's too smart to believe your bullshit," I tell him and he narrows his eyes at me, Elijah chuckling quietly.

"You're brothers?" she asks to Klaus, Kol and Elijah, and all three of them nod once at her. "Your poor mother," she mumbles and Mason high-fives me over her head.

Elena starts chugging the rest of her beer, everyone watching her greedily and not saying a word. And when she finishes, all five of us are just staring at her in awe.

"So," she says lightly after a minute. "While you boys are busy deciding who is going to bash me over the head with a club and try to drag me back to your cave, _I'm_ going to get another beer since no one has offered in the gentlemanly manner."

She unhooks herself from Mason and shoves her empty beer bottle at a stunned Kol's chest.

"Damon," she says sweetly and I look at her as if I'm impatient for my orders. "Feel free to take the appropriate measures if any of them stares at my ass," she winks at me and then turns around, sauntering away.

I chuckle and take a sip of my beer, each of my buddies eyeing me with more than a little jealousy.

"Yeah, tell me about it," I grin and together, we all go to follow after her.

We'd be idiots not to.

* * *

"Never thought I'd see the day," Elijah's girlfriend, Andie, says to me when she meets me at the beer cooler.

"And what day is that?" I ask and hand her a beer, grabbing another for Elena. Not that she really needs it.

After she put the boys in their place, things got a little more relaxed and a lot more interesting. Because with the exception of Elijah, they are all now fighting to win her over and pulling out all the stops to do it. It's beyond hilarious to watch. Because she laughs graciously at their jokes, then scrunches her nose and winks at another when the comedian isn't looking, playing them against each other like a pro when none of them has a shot in hell with her. Because I'm pretty sure that shot is being reserved for me alone.

She's a little drunk, and getting more than a little flirty. I've only had one beer and I'm stopping there because I'm driving and one of us needs to keep our head on straight, but it doesn't mean that I can't enjoy what's happening. Because I'm not sure when, or why, but she has suddenly decided that it's okay to touch me. And what's even weirder is that instead of it sounding the normal clingy-danger-zone warning bells in my head, I actually like it and am happily testing out this new liberty with surprising results.

Example A: Kol's been quite successful in getting her to laugh, but she's doing it while her arm is wrapped comfortably around my waist and my fingertips are massaging the back of her neck under her ponytail. And she's danced with both Klaus and Mason, but she kept a platonic distance from them and kept meeting my eyes from where I was watching by the bonfire with an amused grin.

I cut in once, and she had no problem with me pulling her closer than "co-workers" ever dance. Her hips were snugly against mine, my hand lower on her back than either of the guys dared to try because they damn well knew better, our other hands tucked securely against my heart. It was all slow and hazy, her eyes locked on mine and breaths quick with anticipation as she twirled her fingers through the hairs above my neck. And with the firelight casting a warm glow on her skin, I was quickly losing the battle not to kiss her.

But then someone changed the music to a rap station, and suddenly we had three British guys around us trying to impress her with their "mad skills."

Assholes.

They knew exactly what they were doing too. Just like now, when she's got three of them around her while she covers her mouth with her hands, eyes wide and scandalized at whatever Klaus just said that made Mason put him in a headlock.

She glances at me and pulls her hands away to beam at me, mouthing the words, _"Save me,"_ where they can't see. I smile and hold up a finger, turning back to Andie. Who for some reason is grinning like crazy.

"What were you saying?" I ask and she crosses her arms smugly.

"Nothing, never mind," she says and shakes her head. "Just…she's really sweet, Damon. I'm glad you brought her."

"Yeah, you and everyone else, apparently."

"I think Mason's in love," she laughs. "Better watch out."

"Ooh, I'm terrified," I deadpan and she smiles, coming with me to rejoin the group.

"Do you know your friends are crazy?" Elena chuckles when we reach her, and I hand her the beer, resting my other arm around her shoulders.

"You don't even know the half of it."

"Stop spreading filthy lies," Klaus tells me. "Or I'll be forced to tell some of my own."

"Elena," I say and she peeks up at me eagerly. "Do you know how to play 'I Never'? Of course you do, you went to college," I say and roll my eyes dramatically. "I'll go first," I say, staring down Klaus, Kol and Mason. "I never got arrested for indecent exposure because I was pissing my name off the roof of a laundromat."

All three of them glare at me before each taking a drink, and Elena bursts out laughing.

"Dick," Mason mumbles. "Fine, my turn. I never threw up in the playscape of a McDonalds and got banned for life because it was in front of a whole bunch of kids on a fieldtrip."

Elena sucks in a breath and I point at him threateningly. "And whose idea was it to hold the chicken nugget contest after downing a bottle of Maker's Mark in the parking lot?"

"Yeah, but it was your idea to test out the so called weight limit on the slide afterwards. Drink, fucker."

"Dammit," I grumble and grab the beer from Elena, her head shaking slowly as I take a sip, then pass the bottle back to her.

"Your turn, Elena," Kol smiles at her and she glances down, then up at me with a devious look that makes me swallow.

"I've never had sex with someone and not known their last name."

Andie practically doubles over laughing, pointing at each of us. "All of you better be drinking, right now."

Elena hands me the beer with a proud grin on her face and I take a long pull, seeing Kol, Klaus and Mason do the same in my peripheral vision.

"Finish those bottles, you three," Andie tells them cheekily and they all do as instructed before heading off to get a refill.

"That was cheating," I tell Elena when we're alone, and she shrugs one shoulder.

"I'm susceptible to that," she winks and snatches her beer back, taking a quick sip.

I pretend not to notice when she starts staring at my lips, and with my free hand I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear that's worked itself loose from her ponytail. Her eyelashes flutter and sweep down when my fingertips linger on the soft skin of her neck, and she slightly leans into my touch.

"You feeling alright?" I ask quietly, my other hand moving from her shoulder to tease its way down her spine, and she nods.

"Yeah," she breathes, opening her eyes to look up at me. "But cut me off after this, okay?"

"Sure," I smile.

"Did you really get banned from a McDonalds?"

"Oh yeah," I say seriously and she smiles. "Although not that I consider it to be a bad thing."

She giggles, then sways a little and I tighten my hold on her while she clings to my arm to steady herself. She blows out a breath and leans her forehead against my chest. "Damon?"

"Yep."

"I'm drunk…"

I chuckle. "I know, but you're a really nice drunk. Not at all abusive like I expected. Which is better than any of those dicks deserve."

"You thought I'd be mean?"

"I just think you like surprising me," I tell her quietly, and her breathing picks up.

She shakes her head. "You can't keep looking at me like that," she whispers.

I tilt her chin up so I can see her eyes, my thumb lightly grazing the edge of her jaw. "Like what?"

"Like that…" she breathes, and with the way she's looking up at me right now, yeah, I want nothing more than to taste those pink lips. But she's drunk, and I _can't_.

"Merry fucking Christmas to me!" Mason yells and we both turn to look at him, finding him standing on top of a beer cooler and his arms raised above his head like he's thanking the heavens.

And when I see why he's so damn happy, I groan.

"What's wrong?" Elena asks and I tilt my head at her.

"So…Ric just got here."

"Ric?" she gasps. "Like, _Ric_ Ric?"

"And his girlfriend Jenna. Who you'll love, but that's not really the issue," I admit.

"He doesn't like…_this_, does he?" she confirms and I nod.

"He's told me to stay away from you, more than once, for your sake."

She blushes and looks down. "Yeah, that seemed to work out _real_ well."

"Taking orders, not really my strong suit," I tell her and she snickers.

"What are we going to do?" she asks coyly, and suddenly I have a dozen answers to that question and I can't act on a single one. It's a good thing I can't run out of cold water in my shower, because I already know I'm going to need a whole fucking lot of it after tonight.

I glance back towards where I saw Ric and yep, he's headed right for us. "Hide," I tell her and turn to face him, hooking my arms around Elena's waist behind me so she's hidden by my wider frame.

"Real smooth, Damon," she whispers and I shush her. "Like he's not going to see me."

"You're invisible," I whisper over my shoulder and she giggles into the back of my shirt.

"Damon," Ric says when he stops in front of me, an eyebrow arched in disapproval.

"Ric, Jenna," I reply. "Fancy seeing you here."

"I'll bet," Jenna grins.

"And what are _we _seeing, Damon?" Ric says and I shrug, which is kinda awkward with both my hands locked behind me over Elena's lower back.

"Dunno. Lake, stars, the usual," I say casually, tickling the skin under Elena's shirt above the top of her shorts and she starts squirming like crazy, trying to muffle her giggles.

But I know Ric can hear her because he scowls at me and I clear my throat, trying to cover the sound.

"Hey, do you remember that song? '_The stars at night, are big and bright…'_" I sing loudly and Elena pokes her hands through my arms to clap out the beat in front of my stomach.

"'_Deep in the heart of Texas!'_" Mason screams along, and Elena laughs into my back, yanking her arms out of sight again.

"Grow some extra arms, Damon?" Jenna teases.

"Maybe…"

"Nice to see you, _Elena_," Ric says while narrowing his eyes at me, Jenna's mouth gaping.

"Hi Ric!" Elena says cheerfully, peering around my side before she comes to stand next to me. "I, um," she fumbles desperately and scratches the tip of her nose. "I didn't find that wasp."

"No worries," I smile at her. "Elena, this is Jenna, Ric's girlfriend," I introduce and Jenna rushes forward to hug her, Elena's eyes widening in surprise before she returns the embrace.

"So nice to meet you, Elena," Jenna says warmly.

"Nice to meet you too," Elena tells her with a soft laugh.

"Come on," Jenna tells her and pulls away, immediately hooking her arm through Elena's and leading her towards the beer cooler. "Let's leave the boys to duke it out while you and I have some girl talk."

Ric watches them go, waiting until they're out of earshot before he turns back to me and shoves my shoulder. "What happened to not dating her?" he hisses and I shrug.

"We're not dating, we're just having fun."

"And that entails…"

I cross my arms innocently. "We played golf earlier, and then we came here."

"You took Elena to play golf?" he asks, shocked, and I grin.

"Jealous?"

He tilts his head. "Yeah, Jenna won't play with me and you always want to go alone…"

"Ric," I warn. "Don't ruin my damn day, man."

"Sorry," he says quietly, then scrubs a hand through his hair. "I didn't know she played."

"She does now," I tell him proudly. "She showed up at the driving range on Thursday and we had a trial run. And she's hooked."

"And now you're subjecting her to this group of drunken morons?"

"Hey," I say and hold my hands up in surrender. "I asked if she wanted me to take her home or if she wanted to come here, and she chose here."

He snorts. "Did you warn her?"

"Yeah," I chuckle. "They're all in love with her." He eyes me knowingly and I roll my eyes. "Don't start."

"Look, if you're gonna be straight with her, then fine." He glances over his shoulder to see the girls chatting with Andie at a safe distance away before he looks back at me, his voice dropping. "What about her roommate?"

"Done," I tell him.

"Done?"

"_Done_," I repeat. "Took care of it this morning. Everyone is friends, _without_ benefits."

"And how long do you expect _that_ to last?" he asks mockingly and I blow out a breath.

"Yeah, I don't know," I tell him and shake my head, looking over at Elena smiling and chatting happily with Jenna and Andie like she's known them forever. "She's made it pretty clear what she _doesn't _want, and I've made it very clear what I'm used to, and it's not really lining up."

"So then what are you doing?" he asks and I glare at him, because yeah, like I have an answer to that question. If I did I'd probably be sleeping better.

"Look, I like her, okay?" I finally admit. "Aren't you the one that was telling me-"

"Yeah, but-"

"But nothing," I tell him strongly. "I'm not pressuring her, I'm not lying to her. I've been completely honest about who I am and if she decides she wants to spend time with me, then I'm not going to say no to that. She's…" I trail off, swallowing tightly. "She's different, Ric."

He blows out a breath. "Fine. And it's good that you're being honest with her, but is she being honest with you?"

My head recoils back. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, how much do you know about her?"

"Why? How much do _you_ know about her?" I ask suspiciously and Ric clears his throat, and I turn to see Jenna and Elena heading our way.

I straighten, trying to smooth out my features because they suddenly feel like they're made out of pissed off marble.

"Aww, are Maverick and Goose fighting again?" Jenna pouts at us and Elena laughs softly, but her expression becomes more than a little worried when she sees my face. "They have the most ridiculous lover's quarrels," Jenna tells her before she lets go of Elena so she can commence wrapping her arms around Ric and securing her lips against his.

"Hey, you okay?" Elena asks quietly and I force a smile, tugging playfully on her ponytail.

"Yep."

Her brow furrows and I repress a sigh.

Honestly, I have no claim to ask her anything. It's not like I've told her about Devon and I've had every opportunity to bring him up. She has a right to her secrets, especially until I want to share mine. And I'm not there yet.

"Actually," I say and tilt my head, sweeping some stray hairs off her forehead and she thankfully smiles again. "I'm not okay. And you wanna know why?"

"Why?" she frowns.

"Because. You've lost that lovin' feelin'."

"Yes!" Jenna exclaims and Ric groans.

"No, Damon, she hasn't," he tells me.

"Mason!" I yell out and Elena looks at me like I'm completely crazy. "Wanna play Iceman?"

"Oh hells yes!" Mason replies and I hear him gathering Klaus and Kol and Elijah.

"What am I missing here?" Elena asks Jenna, who bursts out laughing.

"Have you ever seen _Top Gun_?" Jenna asks her and Elena shakes her head no.

Of course she hasn't, because it isn't animated or made by Disney.

"Oh God, this is gonna be so great!" Jenna squeals.

"Come on, Goose," I tell Ric, backing up from Elena and snapping my fingers to the beat I know too well.

Elena narrows her eyes at my deft finger movements and Ric groans again, but starts snapping along with me regardless because he is absolutely my wingman. And it only takes a second before Kol, Klaus, Elijah and Mason come running up to join us, and then we're all in a line, facing a blushing Elena.

Here goes my dignity.

"_You never close your eyes anymore when I kiss your lips,"_ I sing huskily and she covers her mouth with her hands, Ric picking up the next line automatically.

"_There's no tenderness like before in your fingertips…"_

"Oh my God," she laughs, Jenna bumping her shoulder against Elena's and Andie wrapping her arm around her comfortingly when Elijah starts in next.

"_You're trying hard not to show it…" _

"_Baby,"_ we all join in, clasping our hands over our chests and being as overdramatic as possible. _"But baby, believe me I know it."_

"This is not happening," Elena mumbles, blushing like mad and completely embarrassed as all six of us continue belting out the lyrics with all we've got.

And while I'm making a total fool of myself for this woman because I'm fairly certain I'm addicted to her smile, I can't help but wonder who in our group is going to tell her the truth: that there are only two other girls who have ever earned a full concert out of us, and both of them are standing right beside her.

* * *

"Jenna is really nice," Elena smiles at me, curled up comfortably in the passenger seat of my car while we sit parked outside of her apartment.

Kol, troublemaker that he is, snuck Elena another beer while I was getting interrogated by Jenna about whether Elena and I were officially dating. And when I found out and tried to take the bottle away from her, she told me in a snooty attitude that she's a grown woman and she can take care of herself. Miss Grownup is now completely wasted, and I have no idea how she's even awake at this point because we passed midnight a good half hour ago.

"Yeah, she's cool," I admit. "I've known Jenna for a few years now."

"She talks about you like you're her brother," Elena says warmly, and I chuckle.

"Pretty much, but only since she's basically stuck with me as long as she's glued to Ric."

"That's nice," Elena says softly. "I didn't ask you earlier, but do you have any siblings?"

I swallow. "You know," I say and glance at my hand that's idly resting on my steering wheel. "That's probably a conversation to have when one of us isn't drunk." I tilt my head, then look back at her. "Or at least wait to have until I _am _drunk," I say and flare my eyes at her playfully.

And in true Elena fashion, it doesn't fool her for a second and her mouth instantly tugs down.

"Really?"

"Skeleton in my closet," I whisper with a wink.

She looks down at where she's absently tracing the seam in the edge of her seat with one dainty fingertip. "Yeah, I've got a few of those. One _big_ one."

I clear my throat, settling back into my seat and leaning my head against the headrest.

"I should tell you," she breathes, "I just-"

"Elena," I stop her. "It's fine. You don't owe me anything."

"No, I want to tell you, but…" She trails off and shakes her head. "Truthfully?" she sighs and peeks up at me, the corner of her mouth turning up. "I've had an amazing day and I don't want to bring it down with bad stuff."

"That I completely understand," I smile.

"Okay," she grins and bites her lip. "Maybe some other time?"

"Sure," I nod.

"Today was a lot of fun," she beams at me. "Thank you, Damon."

God, she _kills_ me when she looks at me like that. I don't know how she makes me feel about ten feet tall with just a damn smile. "My pleasure," I say truthfully.

"So," she blushes, glancing down again before back at me. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

"If you're not too hungover to come to work, yeah."

She waves me off. "I'm fine. I'm not even drunk anymore."

"Right," I lie. "You're not going to trip going up the stairs, are you?"

She looks out the window towards the stairwell and then back at me. "No promises," she whispers.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," I laugh and get out of the car.

"Damon," she whines when I open the passenger door. "You don't have to walk me to the door."

"Too bad," I tell her and take her hand, and when she goes to stand up out of the car she ends up stumbling a little and falls against me.

She giggles quietly and I steady her, kind of propping her against the car before reaching in and grabbing her purse from the floorboard.

"Here, hold onto this," I tell her and she nods decisively, taking her purse from me and slinging it over her shoulder.

"What are you doing?" she asks when I drape her arms around my neck, squeaking in shock when I scoop her legs up. "Oh my God, you are not carrying me up the stairs!"

"It would seem otherwise," I tell her, taking the first few steps up the stairwell. "I am not risking you falling and getting hurt, because _I_ am not interested in Papa Ranger coming after me. And we both know he'd get away with my murder."

She laughs softly, then seems to just give up any opposition to me carrying her, not that she was putting up that much of a protest to begin with. But she lays her head against my shoulder, and I can't help but smile at the act of trust as I hold her a little more securely.

And she only lives on the second floor, but by the time I get us to her front door, her breaths are sleepy and steady.

"Keys," I tell her quietly.

"Purse," she mumbles and I roll my eyes.

"I am not going through your purse, Elena."

"Then just go in," she whines.

I shift my grip and she snuggles closer, burrowing into my neck as I try the handle, finding it locked. Great.

"You smell good," she breathes and I scoff. I was sweating most of the day while out on the golf course and I probably reek of campfire smoke too. If she thinks that smells good, she must be drunker than I thought.

"Not possible," I mutter, knocking on the door.

It takes Caroline a few minutes to answer, and when she does, she's looking a little worse for the wear. Methinks someone's got a guy in her room right now. Good for her. But her annoyed expression melts from her face the second she sees us, her eyes widening worriedly when she takes in the sight of Elena in my arms.

"Is she okay?" Caroline gasps.

"Hey, Care," Elena mumbles into my neck.

"She's fine," I assure Caroline. "Just drunk."

"Nice, Damon," Caroline scolds and I ignore her, stepping into the apartment.

"Just get me some water and some aspirin, would you?" I ask and head towards Elena's room.

I lay a nearly-sleeping Elena down on her bed and unhook her arms from my neck, Caroline coming in and handing me what I asked for.

"I've got this," I assure Caroline and she spares a concerned look at Elena before she leaves, closing the bedroom door behind her on her way out. "Elena," I say softly and sit on the edge of her bed, and she frowns with her eyes closed. "I need you to sit up for a minute."

"Sleepy," she tells me and I chuckle, setting the water and medicine down on her bedside table.

I take her hands and ease her into sitting up, her eyes opening to glare at me.

"Hi," I smile at her and she scowls even more.

"You're not supposed to be in here."

"Yeah, I know," I tell her and hand her the aspirin and the water. "Take this and as soon as you don't choke, I'll go."

She rolls her eyes and takes the aspirin, swallowing them with a sip of water. She hands me the glass and I set it down on her bedside table as she flops back on her pillow, kicking off her shoes.

"Tomorrow's Monday, isn't it?" she mumbles.

"Technically it's already here."

"Ugh. Can you hand me my phone?"

I hand her the purse instead, and she digs out her cell phone, setting an alarm.

"Does this say six?" she says and shows me the screen, and I smile, taking it from her and changing it to A.M. instead of P.M.

"Why you want to get up that early is beyond me," I tell her quietly, setting her phone down on her nightstand.

She yawns and settles a little deeper in her pillow, closing her eyes. "Not all of us can just roll out of bed and look like models," she grumbles and I laugh quietly, because that's exactly what she did this morning.

"Good night, Elena," I whisper and get up, grabbing the extra throw blanket at the end of her bed and draping it over her.

I brush her hair back from where it's fallen forward over her face, and she hums contentedly, my fingertips lingering over the smooth skin of her cheek.

I make myself step away, silently closing Elena's bedroom door behind me and ignoring the moans coming from Caroline's room.

Because the only thing going through my head as I leave the apartment is a whole lot of wondering who and where that guy is. The blond one that's smiling lovingly at a slightly younger, beaming Elena in the framed picture that's on her nightstand.

* * *

**A/N: SAY WHAAAAAT? *ducks* Okay, I know that we didn't get a goodnight kiss or anything too risqué here, but I do promise that I am aware of the rating I gave this story and I will deliver. Eventually. But it's slow fumbly steps with these two dorks. Although when things heat up, man, they do so quickly. That's it, I'm not saying anything else ;) Can't wait to hear your responses, I cherish every single one of them, and don't forget to follow because if I could post the next like eight chapters right now, I would, but a dragon would slay me. So stick around because Delena shakes my nerves and rattles my brain, and Elena's kind of loving drives a man insane! (although I'm a woman...) Yeah, I'm gonna go crawl in a cave and die now. Buh bye.**

**-Goldnox **


	12. Best Laid Plans

**A/N: Good morning, my sweets. So, I don't watch Teen Wolf, but a dear friend and reader does, and when I opened my twitter this morning she seemed to be having a rough night and day and made a comment about how an update would help, and so, somethinprettty, here you go darlin'. And may I also say to everyone else, there is no way to express how much your enthusiasm and support means to me. Sometimes writers have rough weeks, confidence can stray a little and you begin to question everything, but a constant stream of hugs and pats on the back from your wonderful, lovely, superb reviews does just the trick :) I can't tell you guys enough how much your comments kept me going over the last few days. All my love :)**

**Trogdor19, you are simply the best friend I could ever imagine. It takes a hell of a woman to do all that you do, to be with me every step of the way, and to always know the right thing to say. I am so proud of you for all that you have accomplished in your writing career, and that I have the honor to hopefully help you as much as you always guide me. ****I am so blessed to have you in my life, and I love you dearly.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 12: Best Laid Plans**

I lean back in my chair, twirling my pen over my fingers as I wait for a call, trying to ignore the fact that Elena kicked off her one-inch heels so she could more comfortably tuck one of her feet under her bottom. Her other foot is resting against the front wall of her cubicle under her desk, using it as leverage to gently rock back and forth, and because she's in one of those wicked little pencil skirts I can see every slight flex of her toned calf muscle. Yep, I'm not paying attention to that at all.

"Claims reporting, this is Elena. How may I help you?" she asks and I drop my head back, letting her voice wash over me because I am an idiot. "Oh, well that is very kind," she says graciously to her caller and I feel myself smile.

She giggles lightly and I peek over at her and okay, now she's just screwing with me because she raised her foot on the wall a bit and her skirt slipped up so I can see maybe a quarter inch of the creamy skin above her knee and she may as well have just flashed me because _good God_.

"Oh my goodness, that is too funny!" she tells her caller and I sit up, grabbing a piece of paper.

I hastily jot down a note, folding it up into an airplane like I learned from Billy Krazinski in second grade because I am a mature, adult male, and this is what we do in our spare time at work instead of researching the latest DOW points. I soar it over the aisle and Elena jumps when it lands perfectly on her keyboard, her head turning to smile at me in the amused-scolding face she has perfected.

"No, I haven't seen that movie," she tells the caller and I mime for her to open the airplane, then go back to being a beacon of productivity by starting to make another one.

I hear Ric snort behind me about the same time as she should be reading _"Roses are cliché."_

I glance over at her and she's facing me completely, shaking her head but grinning like crazy while saying into her headset, "Mr. Williams, you are a hoot!"

I turn towards her, acting like I'm preparing to fly the next airplane, and when I mouth _"Ready?"_ she nods; silently laughing when I fake her out three times before I finally let it go.

She catches it, blushing vigorously when she reads _"But lilies are sexy…"_

She grins despite her pursed lips and crumples up the paper into a ball, and I chuckle when she nails me with it. I hold up a finger and mouth _"One more"_ and I get a full eye roll. But she's still smiling.

I take my time writing out the last line, making a show of folding the airplane into something way more advanced than appropriate for the situation, but I'm having too much fun.

"You too," I hear her say sweetly. "Take care, Mr. Williams."

She closes out her claim screen and I wait until she faces me again, then after one easy flick of my wrist I lean back in my chair and lace my hands behind my head. I wink at her, and she bites her lip before she opens the paper airplane.

"Oh my God!" she exclaims, bursting out laughing at my poetic brilliance of _"And Ric still wets his bed."_

"Damon," Ric says and I glance at him. "It's five after," he tells me smugly and I glance at my phone.

Whoops. I switch into my lunch setting, taking off my headset and dropping it onto my desk.

"Ric," Elena says with a wide grin and I narrow my eyes at her playfully. "Did you know Damon was a poet?"

"No, Elena, I did not know that," he says while cocking an eyebrow at me.

"Yep," she tells him proudly, then tilts her head at me. "He's practicing for tonight. Open mic."

"Oh no," I laugh and she nods insistently. "If you think I'm getting up on that stage and having hippie Tourettes, you are sorely mistaken."

She snaps her fingers repeatedly and I roll my eyes.

"Open mic at what?" Ric asks and I look at him.

"Elena likes to piss off Daddy by hanging out at a dirty hookah lounge."

"Hey!" she laughs. "That is not why I go. And besides, it doesn't make him mad."

"Uh-huh…"

She takes off her headset, and after smoothing out her hair she crosses her arms. "For all you know, he's gonna be there."

"Then I'm _really_ not going," I tell her. "I've been arrested enough, thank you."

"Your dad's a cop?" Ric asks her and she blushes.

"It's better than that," I chuckle. "Tell him, Elena," I tease and she purses her lips. "Come on, don't be shy…"

"Damon," she whines. "It's not that big of a deal..."

"Yeah, because you don't have a di-"

"_Ah-hem_," Ric bursts out, loudly clearing his throat to cover my voice because Elena always gets all moody when I mention the male anatomy.

"He's a Ranger," I tell Ric and his eyes widen. He looks at Elena and holds up his hands in surrender, scooting his chair back away from her inside his _own_ cubicle.

"See?" I tell her, pointing at Ric in vindication, and she throws her hands up.

"He's retired!"

"Does he still carry his gun?" I ask and she daintily clears her throat. "I rest my case," I smile.

"Whatever," she laughs. "He's not even coming. But you owe me after taking me to the 'meat market' last night and displaying me as the daily special."

"You had fun and you know it."

"I plead the fifth," she says snootily and I widen my eyes mockingly. "And you're still coming."

"I don't know what's worse," I chuckle. "That you're gonna make me listen to that horrible crap or that you're gonna starve me to do it."

"Then we'll eat first," she shrugs. "But I get to pick the place."

"Fine, but I'm driving because if you think for a second you're going to get me in that little Prius of yours, you've got another think coming. And I am _not_," I say emphatically, "eating tofu or anything made out of soy. Wherever we're going better have something edible. As in _meat_."

"You know, it wouldn't kill you to eat something healthy once in a while…"

"Yeah, it might."

"You eat tomatoes," she says confidently and I narrow my eyes at her. "Tell you what," she says and stands up, slipping her heels back on. She comes over and leans against my desk, and for my own self-preservation, I re-lace my hands behind my head. "I'll give you the tomatoes out of my salad if you stop _whining_."

"You can keep your tomatoes…" I smirk, glancing down at her feet and then up at her eyes, my voice dropping huskily. "If you tell me what color toenail polish you're wearing."

She gasps with a blush. "I am not telling you that!"

She heads down the aisle towards the break room to get her lunch from the refrigerator, and I watch every single sway of her hips in that lovely little pencil skirt.

"Dude," Ric says flatly and I tear my gaze from Elena's ass to his face. Such a step down. "Is this why you're always complaining about me and Jenna? Because honestly, I want to switch departments if this is gonna keep happening every day."

I flip him the bird and he shakes his head before grabbing his keys, standing up and pretty much taking up the whole aisle when he leans against the divider between his and Elena's desks.

"I don't know why you won't just eat from the café," I tell him and he rolls his eyes.

"Because I'm not paying ten bucks for a burger."

"Run away," I say and shoo at him. "Go get your precious Subway."

"Yeah, before I do…" he says and clears his throat. "Jules is hounding me."

"And I care why? Besides, that's your fault."

"Yeah, well I'm paying for it," he mutters. "She invited herself over to dinner tonight in the not-so-subtle hopes that you would be there."

"I'm busy," I grin at him.

"I noticed," he says sarcastically and I snort. "But is there any way to do it another night?"

"No, and she can get over it," I snap, turning away from him to restart my software systems because if I don't reboot them during my lunch break, they'll start glitching by the end of a ten-hour day. "She's annoying and prissy and entitled, and I have no interest in having dinner with her and spending _more_ hours of my life listening to her yap about organic peas and eco cars and all that other granola-munching-"

"Excuse me," Elena says softly from behind me, and I turn to see Ric swallowing before taking a step back so she can get past him, sitting at her desk and gently setting down her salad and bottle of water.

"Let me guess, rib eye with a cheeseburger appetizer?" I taunt her and she smiles at me tightly over her shoulder before turning pointedly away.

Okay.

Ric comes over to lean against my desk and we both watch as she reaches down into a drawer to take out the vegetarian cookbook that she reads like a novel, her Mary Poppins purse next producing her iPod and earbuds. And with another slight swivel of her chair she graces us with her back, the muffled sounds of music beginning to float across the aisle.

My brow furrows and I look at Ric questioningly, shaking my head with a shrug, and he taps his ear. My head whips towards Elena and as I watch her take a bite of her salad, Ric flicks me in the ear. I turn to scowl at him and he pulls his phone out of his pocket, messing with it for a second before he hands it to me. Which is a currently displaying a website for a flower delivery company that is asking if I want to purchase the bouquet of roses he selected.

I lean back in my chair with a groan and toss the phone at him, and he chuckles as he shoves it back in his pocket.

"It's not funny, and this is _your_ fault," I glare at him.

"Yeah…" he drawls, then tilts his head at me. "Do you want red roses or pink?"

I narrow my eyes and he turns, heading out towards the parking lot.

Dick. Like he couldn't have warned me Elena was standing right behind me.

I sigh and get up, heading over to Elena's cubicle. She blatantly ignores me as I stand next to her and when I bump her chair with my knee, she finally pulls one earbud out.

"What's up?" she asks, but she is still looking at her book and _not_ at me.

"I wasn't talking about you," I explain quietly.

"Okay," she says quickly, then picks up her iPod to change the song.

Okay my ass.

"Great," I smile falsely. "Then where are we going for dinner?"

"Oh, sorry," she says and shrugs one shoulder. "I just remembered I had plans with a friend. Maybe some other time."

She goes right back to picking at her salad, and I scoff. "You're a horrible liar, Elena."

"Thank you," she smiles sarcastically at me, then faces her book again.

Someone I don't recognize walks down our aisle, looking way too interested in what we're talking about, and only when they're safely away do I lean down a little closer to Elena, my voice dropping privately. "You're seriously going to blow me off over something that wasn't even about you?"

She drops her fork and blows out a breath. "It _was_ about me."

"_No_, it wasn't."

"Damon," she says warningly, and I swallow. "Whoever that girl is, it sounds like I'm no different than her. Snobbish and health conscious and not much more than a thorn in your side. So, _yes_, it was about me."

I discreetly reach down to brush my knuckle over the back of her hand. "I admit, I do not understand your obsession with eating lettuce, but you are_ not_ a thorn in my side."

"Look," she starts and pulls her hand back. "I'm not mad, I don't _care_. I just want to eat my lunch in peace and read my book and you need to go do the same."

I lock my jaw closed because opening my fat fucking mouth has never gotten me anywhere but on her black list, and I'm already in deep enough shit as it is.

But when she looks away and mumbles, "None of this even matters," it pops my restraint right off.

"And why doesn't it matter?"

"Because," she says sharply, glaring up at me. "We're only friends. Sometimes."

I cross my arms and when I arch an eyebrow at her, she swallows, looking away and tucking her hair behind her ear.

"Right. Have fun tonight." I smile tightly and push off from her desk, heading down the aisle towards the café.

I grab some food but I'm not even hungry, and when Ric comes back forty-five minutes later I'm just sitting at my desk while Elena continues ignoring me, her back facing the aisle as she reads her cookbook and listens to whatever female angsty crap is coming out of her earbuds.

"Hey," Ric says when he pauses by my chair, and I jerk my chin at him. "I, uh, I talked to Jenna."

"Congrats."

"I told her you were busy."

My eyes dart to Elena and then back to him. "Jules still gonna be there?"

"No. Jenna's gonna have lunch with her later in the week."

"Great," I tell him and clear my throat. "I'll be there tonight. And you're dealing."

His brow furrows before he knowingly nods once, going back to his own desk and leaving me with a perfect view of Elena. I scoff and shake my head, putting my headset back on and actually staring longingly at my Auto In button.

* * *

I flip on my TV and flop back onto my bed, ready for some quality cuisine made by DiGiorno and a little bit of guns blazing revenge starring the indomitable Bruce Willis. I've spent the entire day messing with the bumper of my car, unsuccessfully, because after dropping almost two hundred bucks on Elena last weekend it's not like I can just take it to a dealer and say "Money's no object." Yeah, it is an object. One that I'm lacking because I didn't want to take Elena to some shitty little golf course for her first time out, and the nicer the place, the higher the green fees. Too bad my car is paying the price over a woman that is barely speaking to me in anything longer than one syllable words.

My phone rings just as I'm about to take my first bite and when I check, it's fucking _Mason_. At 11 o'clock on a Friday night? Yeah, there's only one reason why he's calling me and not currently buried in some chick.

"I'm not bailing you out of jail this time, it's Elijah's turn."

"_Is it? Good to know…" _Mason says over a whole bunch of music and people talking in the background, and I snort._ "You will never guess what I'm looking at…"_ he sing-songs and I scrub a hand over my face.

"The Easter bunny."

"_Sure,"_ he says lightly. _"If the Easter bunny is a brunette with big doe eyes and long, long legs that I can see every inch of because she's wearing basically nothing."_

"What?" I ask and sit up.

"_Oh yeah,"_ he laughs. _"Now, I don't know anything-"_

"News to no one."

"_But it looks to me like someone is out to score some revenge sex."_

I clear my throat. "And how's that going for her?" I ask hesitantly.

"_Well, it'd probably be going better if she didn't look like she's ready to stab any of the sharks that are circling."_

"Is there a problem?" I ask seriously and he blows out a breath.

"_I'd give it five minutes. The blond piece she came with is currently busy getting her ass grabbed, and there's a line around the block for the chance to do the same to your girl. Although they're not exactly thrilled at her rebuffs…" _

"Dammit," I mumble. "Alright, where are you?" He gives me the name of the bar and I shake my head. It could be worse, but she still has no business being there. Fucking Caroline. "I'll be there in ten. Thanks, man," I say sincerely because I really, really mean it and he knows why or he wouldn't have called in the first place.

"_No problem," _Mason says casually. _"See ya then." _

I'm in my car not even two minutes after hanging up and throwing on better clothes, because there's no way I could pass right by the bouncer like I need to while wearing a shitty old AC/DC t-shirt and jeans with oil stains on them. There are too many people in this city and when I get to the bar, there's a line to get in just like I knew there would be. But the guy at the door looks me over and then he nods at me, and I blow right by everyone stuck grumbling in line.

Thank you, Dad, for giving me some decent genes for times like this.

It only takes me a second to spot her, and _fucking hell_ what is she wearing? Her hair is up, which leaves her entire back exposed because the black shimmery top that I'd bet my car came out of Caroline's closet is hooked around Elena's neck, but then it just dangles over her chest and is barely covering her breasts until it transforms into what is supposed to be a skirt, but is scarcely covering her ass. I've seen bathing suits that covered more skin and this is _Elena_. Elena who never wears a skirt above her knees and who buttons her sweaters up to her throat and this is just…wrong.

"Hey," Mason nods at me when he comes over, clasping my hand and pulling me into a one-armed hug.

"How's it been?" I ask over the music and look towards Elena, who is currently busy ignoring the guy that's hitting on her.

"Pretty much like that," Mason tells me. "You good?"

"Yeah, I'll take care of it," I tell him. "I'll hit you up next week, drinks are on me."

"Sounds good," he grins, then claps me on the shoulder. "Alright, I'm out," he tells me before he leaves the bar.

"Shiner," I tell the bartender because he's looking a little pissed that I'm just standing here and not drinking yet, but I don't mind paying for a beer I'm not going to drink as long as it gets me in his good graces. He slides the bottle over to me and I drop two twenties on the bar. "Brunette," I say and nod my head towards Elena. "What's she drinking and how many is she down?"

"Ask _her_," the guy tells me and I slap my hand down over the money he's picking up.

"I'm asking _you._"

He narrows his eyes at me before saying quietly, "First vodka martini."

"Thank you," I say sarcastically and pull my hand back. "Then that should cover her tab."

He rolls his eyes at me and goes to serve someone else.

I scan the dance floor and Caroline is doing exactly what I expected, and I give it five minutes before she's out the door with the guy whose hands are getting an extended preview of her curves. I check on Elena again and she's downing her martini, but for now I just take a sip of my beer and watch as the guy next to her continues trying to get her attention. I'm not in the habit of rescuing girls that are perfectly fine and Mason made it seem like there was a problem, but for all I know she does this all the time.

I swallow tightly when the douchebag flattens his hand on her bare back, and it makes me sick to see him touching her. That skin is prized and has to be earned. She squirms and pulls away and I set my beer down on the bar, ready to intervene, but I pause when I see her ask the bartender for something. His eyes dart to me before he hands her a bottle of water, which she immediately opens and then dumps all over the guy who had the audacity to touch her.

I grin proudly while the sopping and furious moron yells an insult that gets Elena to square her shoulders, and then her head turns as she watches him stomp towards the door and yep, she just saw me. Because her eyes widen and shoulders sag, and I'm making my way towards her before I ever remember deciding to.

"Hey," she says timidly when I reach her, and I smirk. Her eyes are heavily shadowed and her lips are stained dark, and I find myself desperately missing the soft pink color she always wears.

I lean closer so she can hear me over the music, and I'm surprised that she smells the same as she always does. It's weirdly comforting. "Your mother know you're wearing that?"

I pull back to give her some space and she glances down with a wince.

"How's your night going?" I ask over the music that just got a hell of a lot louder, and she shrugs one shoulder. "That good huh?"

She says something that I don't catch, and when I grin and shake my head in confusion she stretches up on her toes so she can basically yell in my ear. "What about you?"

"Well," I tell her and tilt my head. "I got about two-thirds of the way through my _Die Hard_ marathon, so I'd call that pretty successful."

She gets a crinkle above her nose because I know she doesn't understand the movie reference, and when someone approaches the bar from behind her she fidgets a little and tugs at the hem of her dress.

I lean down once more so she can hear me, and she scoots a little closer into my body. "Look, I know that you're still pissed at me about the whole thorn in the side, rabbit food thing-"

"I'm not mad at you," she interjects, and my brow furrows.

"Since when?"

"Since maybe I realized I might have overreacted." I arch an eyebrow that she doesn't see, and she slightly shakes her head. "I still don't get how you can say those things about her and not think the same about me..."

I clear my throat and lean a little closer. "First, you don't know her. And second, isn't that for me to decide?" She turns her head away a little, her hair brushing my jaw. "Elena, I'm not trying to complicate your night and I know you can take care of yourself, but _I_ still need to make sure you're okay. So either I leave and you promise me that you're going to be _very _careful," I tell her and she rests one of her little hands on my chest. "Or if you want, I will take you home."

I tilt back enough that I can watch her face, and she peeks up at me. "You don't want to stay?"

I give her an easy smile. "Not tonight. We can go out some other time." She glances down and I touch under her chin and make her look in my eyes. "Do _you_ want to stay?" I ask and she pauses for a moment before slowly, she shakes her head no. "Okay," I tell her soothingly. "Go tell Caroline."

She glances towards the bar. "I have to-"

"Already taken care of," I smile, then nod towards where Caroline is on the dance floor.

Something flashes over Elena's face that I don't recognize, but maybe it's because I only catch a glimpse of it before she slides an arm around my shoulders and stretches up to hug me, tucking her face into my neck. I cup the back of hers, making my other hand stay still because I can't bring myself to feel any other part of her skin right now. Not like this.

"I'll just be a second," she tells me and I nod, letting her go and keeping an eye on her as she makes her way through the crowd.

I tilt my head when it starts to look like Caroline is trying to guilt trip Elena into staying, even though Elena is steadily shaking her head no. This is ridiculous. If they're such good friends Caroline should know this is the last place Elena would ever want to be.

"Come _on_, Elena," I hear Caroline whine as I get closer to them, and I jerk my chin at the guy she has recruited for the night when I stop behind Elena so he doesn't go all RAWR on me approaching. "It'll be so much fun!"

"Care, I really don't-"

"Caroline," I say and Elena jumps, then leans back securely against my chest. "We're gonna head out."

"You guys sure you don't want to stay?" she pouts. "It's Friday night!"

I roll my eyes and look at the guy, and he kinda chuckles. "You mind if I borrow Caroline for a minute?"

"No problem," he tells me. "Drink?" he asks her and she smiles appreciatively before he heads towards the bar.

"Why is everyone being so weird tonight?" Caroline says and crosses her arms.

"I'm not being weird," Elena tells her and I run my fingertips over the back of her wrists as they dangle by our sides, trying to control my temper. "I just don't feel like staying."

"Damon," Caroline says imploringly, "back me on this. You know you want to stay…"

"Maybe you should take into consideration that Elena worked all damn day," I warn and Caroline looks down guiltily, Elena sliding her fingers through mine. "We're going."

"Fine," Caroline sighs and rolls her eyes. "Y'all can be like that."

"Thanks, we will," I smirk at her, then clear my throat. "You gonna be okay?" I ask and nod towards the guy coming back with her shot glass.

"Yeah, we're friends." She waves me off. "We're, um, probably going to head out soon, too." She shifts her weight and bites her lip. "Are you guys going to be at the apartment?"

I chuckle and Elena's back straightens, her hands disentangling from mine. "Caroline," she hisses, embarrassed. "It's not like that."

"It's fine," I tell Caroline. "We'll be out of your way."

"What?" Elena asks, looking at me over her shoulder. "Where are 'we' going?"

Caroline saves me from giving an answer I don't have by hugging Elena when the guy reappears, then she takes her shot glass from him. "See you guys later," she winks and throws back the liquid.

I grab Elena's hand and start to lead her through the throng of people, and she follows at a distance until someone whistles at her and I pull her closer, winding my arm behind her back. My hand automatically settles on her hip, and she flinches.

"Sorry," I tell her, but don't move away. I need to keep her close until I get us out of here because it feels like we're being circled by wolves just waiting for their moment to pounce. "Just a sec…"

Thirty more seconds and I get us out the door and it's a breath of fresh air when we hit the street, the music from the bar instantly fading. I begin leading us down to where my car is parked and I start to pull my hand away from her hip, but her tiny fist grips my shirt and I hold her a little tighter.

I can literally feel her relax when she spots my Charger and I don't know why that makes me feel so strong, but I fractionally tighten my grip before I let her go so I can pop the trunk. She hugs her arms around herself but it's warm out tonight, and I know the temperature is not the problem.

"Here," I tell her and hand her my leather jacket, and she takes it with that same little confused wrinkle above her nose. I blow out a breath and close the trunk gently. "The passenger seat sits low and the knees go up and the skirt comes back…"

"Got it," she says and holds the jacket a little closer, stalking off to get in the car. I open the passenger door and look down the street, trying to give her some privacy as she slides in and settles the jacket over her legs. "Okay," she says quietly and I flash a quick smile before I close her door, going around and getting in my side.

I put my keys in the ignition, but I don't start the car because Elena is looking pointedly out her window and even from her profile I can tell she's embarrassed, and that just kills me.

"Hey," I say softly, and when she glances at me, I smile as comfortingly as possible. "Nice job on drowning that douchebag." I hold my fist out and she blushes a little before bumping her hand against mine. "So, what does one normally do when their roommate is doing…_that_?"

She laughs softly then looks down. "Usually, one goes to the movies or to a bookstore for a few hours."

"Right," I nod. "Except…" I drawl out because if she was to go to a movie or a bookstore, she's going to get some very disapproving looks and there's no way she's up for that. Elena doesn't do rejection.

"Exactly," she sighs. "It's fine, I'll just go home. I'm really sorry for ruining your night, Damon."

I scoff. "Bruce Willis will always wait for me," I say with a wink and get another half-smile from her.

I sit back in my seat and bite the inside of my lip, because I'm about to suggest something that I don't do. Ever. But then again, Elena has a way of getting me to break my own rules. Plus I hate the idea of her going home and listening to Caroline and whoever getting it on in the room across that very tiny hall. There are so many things wrong about that, I don't even know where to begin.

I look towards her, and she widens her eyes at us just sitting in my car and not moving.

Here we go.

"Okay, so as an alternative," I start and try to hide my swallow, "we can go kill some time at my place. Watch a movie or you can read, not that I have any actual books and I'm pretty sure my movie collection is going to earn me a whole bunch of glares, but it's an option for a few hours and then I'll take you home."

"Oh," she says quietly, and I can already see her stiffen up. "I don't know…"

"I'm not suggesting anything," I say very, very quietly, but I know she still hears me because she looks down and then out the window. "If I was, I'd _never_ take you back to my apartment."

She looks towards me and man, are those wheels spinning. "Why?" she asks hesitantly, and I shrug.

"Because it's a shithole."

"Damon!" she gasps, getting that familiar scandalized smile that takes about twenty pounds of weight off my shoulders. "I'm sure it's not that bad."

I cock an eyebrow at her.

"Okay, well now I _have_ to see it, just so I can tell you how wrong you are," she smiles, and I nod once.

"Suit yourself," I tell her. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

She rolls her eyes while I start the car, and I almost stall it when she takes down her hair, tossing the wavy strands.

"What?" she asks and I shake my head.

"If you want anything to eat, you better speak now because I'm pretty sure the only thing I have is pizza and pie, and I don't share my pie."

She laughs and crosses her arms. "Is that because your mom made it for you?"

"No, it's because it's the best damn pie in the city," I tell her incredulously. "The fact that my mom made it has no bearing on the matter."

"Mm-hmm."

"Buckle your seatbelt," I snap playfully, breaking about three laws when I pull out of the parking lot and gun the engine down the crowded streets.

"Damon!" she shrieks with a laugh hidden in there, her hand shooting out to land on my arm. "If you kill me in a wreck, you're gonna have to deal with my dad," she warns and I flare my eyes at her.

"He'd have to catch me first," I smirk, speeding up even further.

* * *

**A/N: Whoo! Fun times ahead! I just adore this couple, they are too cute. And Damon, UGH! He just melts my soul. And the FEELS! ALL THE FEELS! Just you wait and see what kind of *feels* we be talking about, *cough make sure you follow 'cause you don't want to miss the next chapter cough* See y'all at the next chapter! **

**-Goldnox**


	13. For the Love of Pie

**A/N: SURPRISE! Early update, because of overload of feels from the episode and from beta'ing awesome chapters of In Time We Trust and because I adore all of you so much that I can't resist updating early. Hope you enjoy! **

***buys plane ticket* ... *runs through airport* ... *twiddles thumbs while on the airplane*... *shanks cab driver for taking too long to get to the destination*... *knocks of hut door* ... *tackles the holy hell out of Trogdor19 in the biggest hug imaginable that is still considered heterosexual because her husband will murder me otherwise*... *kneels down and presents her with book of the world's best pie recipes*... *has bestfriendship ceremony on the beach the next day*... *everyone rolls their eyes while we cry and say our vows because I can't live without you*******

_****Quick note, In this story Elena is 27 and Damon is 24 :)**_

* * *

**Chapter 13: For the Love of Pie**

"Rules," I tell her seriously outside my front door, and she arches an eyebrow at me, hugging the long leather sleeves tighter around herself.

She put my jacket on when she got out of the car, and it's crazy fucking adorable that it looks like it's the only thing she's wearing because it's longer than her "dress."

"No giving out my address, and keep the insults to a minimum," I tell her and she rolls her eyes.

"If it bothers you so much, then move," she taunts and I point at her playfully.

"It doesn't bother me because _no one_ comes here. So be nice," I tell her and the corners of her mouth soften.

I open the door and let her in, and she crosses the threshold hesitantly like she's scared. She stops short and I roll my eyes and nudge her further inside so I can shut the door, walking around her so I can throw my keys and phone down on the kitchen counter.

"It's…compact," she says diplomatically and I snort.

Economy sized apartments are basically adult dorm rooms. Instead of a couch being the center of my living room, it's my bed. At least it's made because I thankfully cleaned the whole place this morning before I started working on my car, but the black comforter is a little rumpled since I was lounging on it when Mason called. My single night stand equals my coffee table, and on the opposite wall is a flatscreen and nothing else since I don't waste time or money on art. Less holes for me to patch when I move.

Both sets of golf clubs are propped up against the corner next to my closet, and then it's a tiny bathroom and on the other side of the apartment, an even smaller kitchen which is basically a sink, a refrigerator, and a microwave. There's an oven that I hardly use because I don't actually have a dishwasher, so I decided to forgo buying dishes altogether. I don't like shit being dirty so the less I have to clean, the better, and if I feel like cooking something I can do that at Ric's or my mom's.

"It's pretty much just a place to crash, which is all I need," I tell Elena and head towards the closet.

"You don't have any pictures…" she says quietly as I flip through my hangers, pulling off a black Metallica t-shirt and then grabbing my most comfortable hoodie because there's no way she's wearing a bra under that black shimmery top.

"Actually, I have a poster-sized shot of me and Ric that I hang over my bed, but I'm having it reframed."

"Really?" she asks, and I pivot to face her. "Right…"

I chuckle and grab some drawstring pajama pants off the shelf before I close the closet, Elena looking around and kinda nodding to herself.

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just…" she trails off and smiles. "Unequivocal 'bachelor pad.'"

"Bachelor," I say and point at myself, then hold out the clothes for her. Her brow furrows and I sigh. "It's not a corset and garter belt, Elena. It's a t-shirt and hoodie and some pants. Unless you want to keep wearing that."

She takes the clothes with a blush and I nod towards the bathroom. "Thank you," she says quietly and I wink at her.

She heads off to change and after I shuck my boots and kick them over by the door, I grab the Styrofoam plate of cold pizza off my nightstand and carry it into the kitchen to throw it away. What a waste. I head back over to my bed and grab the TV remote, turning down the movie that's still playing because I didn't shut anything off before I left.

The sink starts to run in the bathroom when I crouch down in front of my shelf full of movies, and I tilt my head, trying to remember whether I have a hand towel out or if they're all in the cabinet. Damn. I guess she's gonna have to dig through my stuff which isn't that incriminating, it's just the standard shaving cream and razor and deodorant and cologne, but still, it's mine and it's just weird that someone else is here seeing that stuff. Ric doesn't even come over here. Actually, I don't think he's been here since I moved in. Huh.

I go back to checking over my list of available options, and I scrub a hand over my face. Unless she's a Quentin Tarantino junkie or a secret fan of action movies, she's shit out of luck. Maybe I could get her to watch _Monty Python _and not traumatize her. It's not dirty, there's no cursing and the "violence" is tamer than most cartoons, so that may be an option.

The bathroom door opens, and when I look at her I forget to stand up because I am so royally screwed. She washed her face and all that makeup is gone, clean skin and naturally dusty-pink lips and big brown eyes and she's never looked better. She's swimming in my clothes and it's the cutest, hottest thing I could ever imagine her wearing because the hoodie is floating around her delicate little neck, the hem kissing the middle of her thighs. Her legs are loosely covered in soft black pajama pants and they're a little twisted like she must have rolled them down because they should be too long for her, but the bottom edges are just lightly flirting over the top of her feet so I can see that her toenails are painted a deep vixen red.

"What?" she asks and I clear my throat, trying to rein in my smile but it's not really working. I stand and cross my arms, and when I shrug, she blushes. "I don't get you at all," she laughs softly.

"Is that right?"

"Yeah," she teases a little more confidently. "I was practically nude five minutes ago and you barely looked at me. Now I'm covered head to toe in some of the unsexiest stuff ever, and you're basically foaming at the mouth."

I snort. "Let me clue you in on a little secret," I stage-whisper and she stuffs her hands in the pocket of the hoodie, jutting her hip out in a playful attitude and this is _torture_. "The more clothes you wear, the sexier you are."

She laughs and shakes her head. "You are such a liar, but thanks. I think."

"Not lying, and I can prove it." I take a step forward and her eyes dart to my waist and then back up before she holds up a warning finger.

"No," she tells me and I roll my eyes, stopping in front of her. "Damon…" she says a little breathlessly when I take her hand, extending two fingers and resting them against the pulse point in my neck.

"What you were wearing tonight, it's fine," I tell her and my pulse stays steady because honestly, I hated it. "But," I tell her and it kicks up, "you know those cardigans you wear to work?"

"Yeah," she breathes, her eyes widening when she feels how hard my heart just started beating and I scoot a little closer.

"If I'm lucky and it's warm in the building, you push your sleeves up and flash me a little wrist," I grin and she flushes. "And you always button them all the way up. But if I'm a very good boy and say all my prayers, you undo the top button. Just, _there.._."

I lightly touch the place where her collarbones meet and I can't see it because of the clothes she's wearing, but I can feel the hollow and there's been more than one fantasy about how soft that skin would feel under my tongue.

"The night you came to the gym…" I say and my voice drops a little without my permission, my eyes closing as I shake my head.

"But that other girl," she whispers and my eyes open. "She was wearing like, underwear."

"I don't care," I tell her and graze my fingertips over the edge of her shoulders. "Because right here, just maybe half an inch of your skin was showing and I swear, I thought I was gonna lose it."

"Your heart is _pounding_," she tells me quietly, and I nod.

"Don't even get me started on your skirts," I admit and my hands fall to her hips, pulling her closer against me. "Especially the black one, that for some reason starts way up here…" I whisper and slide my palm up her side to where I'm covering her ribs.

"The high-waisted one," she confirms and I groan, dropping my forehead to hers.

"It's ruining my life," I tell her throatily and she slides her other hand up the middle of my chest.

"Damon," she breathes and my hand on her hip slips around to her back, my other faintly massaging the skin over her ribs and she shifts a little, tucking her face into my neck.

My thumb nudges her breast and she sucks in a breath, her chest brushing against mine with each exaggerated inhale and exhale, but her grip on my neck tightens and slowly, I let myself feel her. How soft and perfect she is, the bump of her hardened nipple under the cotton fabric and how she delicately moans and arches when I graze my fingertips over her.

I duck my chin so my cheek rubs against hers, my fingertips slowly trailing a line down her chest until I feel the rolled waistband of the pants, low on her hips. My fingers explore, stretching out across her stomach and when I bump her nose with mine she tilts back, her mouth slightly parted.

I hover my lips over hers, my hand on her back moving up between her shoulder blades while my other slides, my fingertips daring to tease their way down until I risk a single finger finding the forbidden space between her legs. My tongue slips across her mouth, flirting with her bottom lip as I press her clit through the cotton fabric, and without warning she moans loudly and her knees bend and I barely catch her before she buckles.

I straighten her and she's clinging to my shoulders, breathing heavily and slightly shaking as she hides her face in my shirt. I circle my arms around her, resting my cheek to her hair as I calmingly smooth my hand up her spine.

"Did you just-"

"Yeah," she breathes, and I bite my cheeks against a smile. "Oh God, this can't _happen_…" she squeaks and then she's pulling away, pacing back and forth and running her hands through her hair.

That's just great. I blow out a breath and try to subtly rearrange myself in my pants because my cock is rock hard and her freaking out is not an encouraging sign that there is any hope of relieving that situation.

"Elena…" I start, but I don't get much farther before she rounds on me.

"You said you weren't going to try anything!"

"It's not like I planned that," I admit, then shrug with a smirk. "You got me all riled up."

"You got yourself riled up," she admonishes and I roll my eyes.

"It's not like I was the only one. You're the one that-"

"Don't say it," she growls and shakes her head.

"What is the big deal?"

"The big deal, Damon, is that this wasn't supposed to happen!"

I cross my arms. "Well, it did. And it looks like it needs to happen a few more times because damn girl, do you need to relax."

"Don't tell me to relax," she snaps at me.

"Fine, I take it back," I say and hold my hands up in surrender. "You're calm and collected and the definition of tranquil."

"You just…" she starts and swallows, shooing me away even though there's a good four feet between us. Like always. "You just need to stay…over _there_."

I snort and she glares at me. "Just for argument's sake," I say and tilt my head, "why is this a problem? I mean, wasn't…_that_ your whole goal tonight? At least you know me."

"No, for your information, that wasn't my goal. And me knowing you just makes this infinitely more complicated because yes, there are a host of reasons why _this_," she says and gestures between us, "is a problem."

I shrug. "Such as?"

She blinks at me, stunned. "You really want to get into this?"

"I think we're going to have to, yeah," I chuckle. "Because I know what I want and you are quickly becoming the queen of mixed signals."

She blows out a breath and squares her shoulders. "Caroline."

"What about her?"

"You're sleeping with her," Elena hisses at me and I sigh.

"No, I'm not," I tell her calmly.

"Since when?"

"Since you and I started spending time together." Elena's mouth gapes and I flare my eyes at her sarcastically. "Don't get me wrong, she's nice, but that's done. And since you brought it up," I tell her plainly, "I haven't been with another woman in weeks and I know that sounds stupid when you say it out loud, but let me assure you, it's a change."

Her brow furrows, confusion all over her face. "Why?"

"Why aren't I sleeping with anyone?" I ask and she nods. "You're smart enough to figure that out. Next problem."

She waits a long time before quietly saying, "I'm not like them." I slowly shake my head, crazy irritated that she feels it's necessary to explain something like that to me. I may not know everything about her, but I know what she's not. "I can't _do_ what they do."

"I'm not treating you like a one-night stand, and I don't expect you to act like that," I tell her seriously. "Which is why you're standing in my apartment, wearing my clothes. Not exactly my run of the mill shit, Elena."

She closes her eyes and turns around, running a hand through her hair.

"What is the real issue here? Is it the degree thing? Is it money? What?"

She whips around, shocked. "You think I care about that stuff?"

"I don't know what you care about," I mutter, then try to cover it with a humorless chuckle. "I don't have a fucking clue."

"You're…" she starts and stops, and I brace myself. "You're too young for me," she says and I feel my mouth open.

I blink a few times and then just end up throwing my hands up in the air, utterly exasperated. I'm a whopping three years younger than her, not some pimply preteen hitting on his junior high Science teacher.

"Damon…" she mutters and yeah, calm, rational behavior has left the building

I step towards her until I'm drowning in her perfume and I can see every trace of the gold in her eyes, feeling the graze of her nipples against my chest when she sucks in a breath.

"I may be younger than you, but I am still a man, dammit," I snap harshly, and then I'm kissing her.

And I don't even know what happened, because one second I'm furious and the next my hand is cradling her face and her mouth is pressed against mine, and her lips are so _soft_.

I sweep my thumb over her cheek and her hands that are fisted into the front of my shirt gently unwind, sliding up my chest to wrap around my neck and I circle my arms around her waist, pulling her closer into me. And even with my pounding heart and the adrenaline surging through my body, it's slow and careful when her mouth opens and I slip my tongue against hers for the very first time.

She moans and I hold her tighter, finding my place in a home I never knew existed that is only about her taste, her rhythm, the way she can't seem to decide if she wants to hug her arms around my neck or run her hands through my hair, to cup my jaw or cling to my shoulders, and I want it all.

And something extraordinary happens when you realize the woman you're kissing was made for your hands, because she fits in them perfectly and she just seems to know them. Because when I touch her neck she tilts so I can kiss her deeper, and when I massage them into her hair, everything slows to a languid caress that reminds me of long hot summers, the ones spent wading through lazy waves at a lake that is always, always calm.

Some things just _are._

When I finally, carefully, separate my mouth from hers we are completely tangled and far past breathless, and I still can't help lifting another kiss from her lips. I lean my forehead to hers, finding her hands resting against my neck and one of my arms wound around her shoulders, my other hand tucking her hair behind her ear and when she opens her mouth to say something, I lock myself in place.

"I need a drink," she whispers in a daze and I nod, stealing one more kiss while I can before she no doubt storms out of my apartment for kissing her like that without her permission.

I clear my throat, leaning back slightly and running my palms down her arms. "What do you want?"

"Options?"

"Water," I say and think, "beer, possibly orange juice…"

"Vodka?" she asks and I shake my head. "Bachelor pad," she sighs at me and I crack half a grin.

"Want me to run to the— Wait," I say and hold up a finger.

"What are you doing?" she says with a laugh when I strut into the kitchen and open a cabinet, stretching up to the reach the very back of the top shelf and…there it is. I get the bottle of Pappy Van Winkle and waggle it at her proudly, and she tilts her head. "Why was it up there?"

"Because," I tell her and open it. "This I was saving because it was a bitch to get it."

"We don't have to— Damon!" she bursts out when I take a drink from the bottle, and I almost choke.

"What?"

"You're supposed to drive me home," she reminds me and I wince.

"Whoops."

She pouts her bottom lip out. "I really don't want to drink alone…"

"Then let's get wasted and I'll drive you home tomorrow."

"You sure that's a good idea?" she asks, hesitantly walking towards me and taking the bottle.

"Are we having sex tonight?" I ask while she takes a drink, and she sputters. "Exactly," I grin. "So, drinking? Very good idea."

"That makes no sense."

"That's because you _had_ your orgasm," I tell her and her eyes pop before she shoves my shoulder. I chuckle and steal the bottle from her, taking a long pull while I watch her head toward the refrigerator.

"Starving," she mumbles and opens the fridge. "You seriously only have pie in here?"

"I told you that before we left the parking lot."

"Better be some good pie," she says and pulls out the plate of my own personal sugary-crack, otherwise known as my mom's Caramel Apple Cranberry pie, then kicks the refrigerator closed with her foot. It's the ultimate comfort food since it's this crazy mixture of flavors that simultaneously reminds me of Spring Carnivals and Thanksgiving, and Elena's going to go insane over it. I grin and take another drink, and she sets down the pie plate on the counter and holds her hand out for the bottle. I pass it back to her and she commands me with, "Plates and forks."

"Try the diner down the street," I smirk. "On second thought," I tell her and grab the front of her hoodie, yanking her closer until she's pressed up against me. She smiles with an arched eyebrow and I reach into the drawer she was just standing in front of.

"Smooth," she tells me and I wink at her, holding up a plastic disposable fork. "No," she says with giggly determination. "You have silverware somewhere," she insists and pulls away, and I lean against the counter and cross my arms as she starts her search.

Best of luck to her.

"Seriously?" she asks when she's almost done going through every cabinet and drawer. "One bowl, Styrofoam plates and one cup, and five shot glasses? Five?"

"I'm not big on dinner parties." I take a bite of the pie, ignoring the disapproving look I'm getting for eating out of the dish.

I spear another bite and hold it out to Elena in a dare, and she rolls her eyes before wrapping her lips around the fork and _damn._

"Holy moly," she mumbles and I snicker.

"Told ya."

"You know," she says and reaches for the bourbon, "there's this place called Sweet Sarah's on Walnut and 7th that has pies that are _almost_ as good as this."

I smile and take the bottle from her. "Sarah…" I say and take a drink, "is my aunt."

"Really?"

"Yep," I nod, taking another bite and giving one to a very appreciative Elena. "Mom makes all her pies, but the ones she makes for_ me_ are always better," I grin and bat my eyelashes.

"I see that," she says and tilts her head at me, looking far too smug for my taste. "Do you bake too?" she teases and I narrow my eyes at her.

"Not if I can help it, and don't start," I grumble, pointing the fork at her. She snatches it away and takes another bite, and I smile. "You go to the bakery a lot?"

"Every Sunday morning," she says happily, something pinging in my brain as I watch her picking at a stray cranberry. "I'm good friends with…" she trails off and her eyes widen. "Short, blond hair, really big on hugs?"

"You're friends with my _mom_?" I burst out and Elena cracks up laughing.

"Oh my God! I _knew_ her voice sounded familiar…"

I groan.

"She talks about you, like, all the time," Elena grins. _"'You should really meet my son someday. Such an attractive and smart young man, but he needs a woman.'" _

"Jesus Christ!" I gasp. "That's it, I'm putting her in a home for the fucking deranged."

"Don't talk about your mother like that," Elena scolds. "I like her more than I like _you_."

I smile and watch as she continues picking at the crust. "You talk to her a lot?"

"Yeah," she says, smiling warmly at me. "We have a standing date."

I nod once. And when I clear my throat, Elena tilts her head at me and I roll my eyes. "She's old and just this side of bat shit crazy. She needs friends."

"God, you're so mean!" she laughs.

"No, what I am is hungry and _stop eating all my damn food!"_ I yell playfully and snatch the dish away from her, Elena giggling like crazy when I boost her up on the counter.

I tug her closer, and she gasps when I press my hips between her thighs. But instead of kissing her, I wink and pick up the bottle of bourbon, and she narrows her eyes at me while I take a drink. I set the bottle down next to her, and when she picks it up and takes a long swig, I swallow thickly.

"We're not having sex," she tells me and I arch an eyebrow. "First base, if you give me the recipe for that pie."

"First base, sold!" I exclaim and fist pump, and she snickers before setting the bottle down.

* * *

**A/N: FINALLY, we got some smoochin' going on. *fist pump* Thanks for your patience while we got them there, and excuse me while I go jump up and down because I love this chapter so much and the next one too and then the next one and...DAMMIT I LOVE THEM ALL. Do me a solid, home diggities, because Trogdor19 aka MY BRAIN AND HEART AND SOUL is posting an absolutely incredible chapter tomorrow that I can do nothing but gush over constantly it is so much fun and so cute and makes me do things like scream about tunafish sandwiches and the power of rainbows, so if you're not caught up or following her story, In Time We Trust, go check it out because it's to die for. And I know, because I've swooned all over it since before it was ever written and just an idea passed in text messages. My poor data plan :D Love you all *blows kisses***

**-Goldnox**


	14. Shaky Starts

**A/N: HELLO DARLINGS! I have company suddenly coming into town tomorrow so that means...EARLY UPDATE! And how cute was Paley Fest? SHEESH, talk about some sexual tension. Mm-hmm. So, on that note... ;)**

**Trogdor19, the coolest chick and beta ever, has a BRAND NEW ONE SHOT! WHOOOOO! BASED ON EPISODE 5X16! MORE WHOOOOOO! AND YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS? Delicious sexy times. HOLLA! Interspersed with such gorgeous writing that it makes me cry in shame and jealousy while I'm applauding like a proud mama. It's called _What Words Can't Say_ and it's amazing! Go check it out and send her some review love, because the woman is gonna be living on an airplane this week and reviews help jet lag. Yep, that's the truth ;) **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 14: Shaky Starts**

My head is pounding and my stomach is curdling, but I couldn't give two hints of a fuck because I'm wrapped around a peacefully sleeping Elena and it's worth every painful, horribly hungover moment.

Her back is melted into my chest and my right hand is tucked into the front pocket of the hoodie she's still wearing, and when I pull her a little closer she groans and shifts, rolling onto her stomach and then scooting further into me. I lay fully onto my back as she snuggles into the space under my jaw and it feels like my shoulder is out of socket from her using my left arm as a pillow, but _her_ left arm is stretched across my stomach and her hand is clinging to my hip under my shirt and left arms are the _best_.

"You stink like bourbon," Elena grumbles and I run a hand down her hair, taking a deep, languorous breath.

"You smell good," I slur back and she scoffs.

"I probably smell like you."

"And I _always_ smell good." I grin and it stretches into a yawn, opening my eyes just enough to see her lift her head as she looks around.

"What time is it? And why don't you have a clock in here?"

"Because I have a phone and it's the same thing and _who cares_?" I whine and reclose my eyes. "It's daylight. Daylight bad. Must sleep more."

"Okay," she agrees and drops her head back down on my shoulder, and I chuckle quietly.

God knows she must be as hungover as I am because we did some serious damage to that bottle of bourbon last night, and Elena is officially my new favorite drinking buddy. Because I get to make out with her more and more the drunker we get, and we are excellent at making out. Dr. Seuss would be so proud. We can do it in the kitchen or sprawled out on the floor, rolling around on my bed or even pressed against the door. Yes we can, Sam I am.

I played by her rules and the clothes stayed on, but that didn't stop me from daring to grab her ass or Elena deciding that the best way to drive me insane with payback was to climb on my lap and bait me with everything she's got. And she's got _a lot_.

The whole night is a blur of acting like we were drunken teenagers at a basement party, and every time things got a little too intense it was a frustrating pause to drink more and then do something embarrassingly stupid. Like proving I could moonwalk and then tripping backwards and spilling a shitload of bourbon all over my shirt. Or when she announced that she spent her entire childhood and a good chunk of her adolescence twirling a baton, so I unscrewed the club head off my driver and got a full reenactment of her routine. And it turns out that not only is Elena extremely flexible, but baton twirling is the sexiest thing I've ever seen because it was pretty much just some seductive mix of ballet and gymnastics while she expertly fondled a very long rod. Who knew?

I did end up getting her to watch _Monty Python_ and she loved every second of it, especially the opening credits because she decided that llama was the funniest word in existence to say. And when she got her first taste of the genius of John Cleese as the Black Knight? She actually laughed so loud that my neighbors got pissed and started banging on my door, asking us to keep it down. That's when Elena decided to give me a heart attack by immediately asking them if they would sell her some pot.

I mean, yeah, I've had my suspicions of what goes on over there, but it's not like I'm just gonna come out and say it because those guys? They're a little intense. And they're probably packing something more threatening than a set of Callaways. But Elena? One smile and a perfectly timed giggle, a bashful tuck of her hair behind her ear and she scored herself a joint.

Turns out those smoke rings she blows so well? It's because Little Miss Moral was a major pothead in high school and she swears she hasn't smoked in years, but she could've fooled me because we blazed through that shit like pros. Afterwards we had a serious and long winded discussion about the reason she likes animated movies, and she was predictably offended when I told her they weren't as innocent as she thought. Segue into us on the floor with my laptop, me pointing out the dicks on the original cover of _The Little Mermaid_ and her almost crying from feeling so betrayed by Disney.

Apparently, what it really comes down to is the romance. Guy on a horse saves the pretty princess, and she's a total sucker for it. I told her _real_ romance was a guy that was willing to kill an endless amount of people and literally walk on broken glass just so he could save his wife from a bunch of thieves holding her hostage at her work's Christmas party, even though she's two seconds from divorcing him because she doesn't appreciate that he works his ass off all the time so he could take care of her in the best way he knows how. Elena swooned, and that's how I got her to watch _Die Hard_.

We only got about halfway through before she passed out, and I don't remember seeing the end of the movie so I must have followed shortly after, but it's quiet in the apartment so I'm guessing she must have woken up and turned it off at some point. We're also now mysteriously under my comforter, so she somehow managed that as well. Her mystical powers know no bounds.

Who knows what else happened when I was blacked out, but we're both still dressed so that's slightly encouraging. I'd probably kill myself if I had sex with her and not been able to remember it because based on that baton routine and her extreme aptitude at rolling her hips while straddling mine, Christ knows there isn't much else that I want to have permanently forged in my memory.

Except for maybe all of last night and so far, this morning.

Because she just yawned and shifted, drawing her leg up over my waist, and I can't resist smoothing my hand over her and lightly massaging the back of her thigh. I rock my hips up so I can rub my denim-imprisoned erection against her, moaning throatily 'cause _fuck_ that feels good and I've been hard for something like eight hours now. I probably need to see a damn doctor because that is so not normal and it can't be healthy for my poor neglected cock, but such is life with Elena in my proximity.

"Don't start," she whispers and I whimper.

"You're murdering me…"

"You'll live," she tells me and I snort. And it makes my brain hurt. So much.

"Ow," I whine and she snickers, and then winces in pain. "You too?"

"Mm-hmm," she mumbles. "Does that mean last night really happened?"

"Which part?"

"All of it," she says quietly, and I nod. Carefully. "You are the worst influence, just like, ever."

"I hate to break this to you," I say and pull her a little closer, "but the drinking, and the smoking, was all your idea."

"Oh God, I forgot we got high," she says and I chuckle, and then immediately regret it. I swallow a burp and turn my head away from her to blow out a breath. "Damon, if you throw up on me, I'll never forgive you…"

"Back at ya."

I pry my eyes open and reach over to my nightstand, grabbing my phone. It's a quarter after ten and I was supposed to do something today…

It was fairly important, and it required an appointment, but I can't remember what or where or when.

I open my call log to see if that'll jog my memory and when I see it, I realize that I'm pretty sure my appointment was at ten-thirty. Fuck.

"What are you doing?" Elena mumbles and I shush her, pressing call and my head throbbing with every single ring until some overly chipper, wide awake and not deathly hungover chick answers, and I instantly hate her for it.

"My name is Damon Salvatore, I had an appointment at ten-thirty and I need to reschedule," I mutter slash slur.

"_Sure thing, Mr. Salvatore,"_ Perky McGee tells me and I grimace at her voice. _"Did you want to come in later today?"_

"Yes," I sigh and she rattles off a list of other options. "Noon is fine," I tell her and hang up in the middle of her cheerful goodbye, letting the phone slip from my fingers and fall on the floor.

"Haircut?" Elena asks and I wrap my arms around her, massaging my fingertips into her scalp until she's almost purring.

"Something like that."

Five minutes. Five minutes to stay here and soak this up before I need to move.

But I don't wanna.

Until I catch a whiff of myself and Jesus, I do stink like bourbon.

"Okay," I breathe and Elena flinches like I woke her up. "I am going to get up, and go take a shower."

"Okay," she tells me, but neither of us moves.

"On the count of three…"

"Seven," she mumbles. "Seven is better."

I laugh quietly, then smoothly roll her off me so she's on her back. She immediately turns onto her other side and burrows down under the comforter, and as I look at her dark hair fanned out over one of my pillows, I can't stop thinking that this should be so much weirder.

I finally get my feet planted on the floor and lug myself up with a groan, wishing for a moment that I was shorter because it's less body to haul around. But I still manage to stumble my way towards my closet and grab some clean clothes, and when I open the door to my bathroom I stop and smile. I peek back over my shoulder at Elena, happily snuggled in my bed.

"Any idea who drew a massive butterfly on my bathroom mirror out of shaving cream?"

"I blame that Rumpelstiltskin…"

"Van Winkle," I correct and she huffs.

"Whatever," she mutters and pulls the covers over her head.

I close the door and end up spending way too long under the hot water, but it does wonders for how shitty I was feeling beforehand. And when I finally finish getting to a publicly presentable state, I come out and it looks like Elena's still asleep. I slide on my boots, grab my phone and my keys, and crouch down next to the bed.

I pull the covers down so I can touch the tip of her nose, and she wrinkles it adorably.

"You awake?"

"No," she mumbles and I smile.

"I'm gonna go get some caffeine and breakfast and the entire city's collection of aspirin, and you're welcome to keep drooling all over my pillows, or feel free to take a shower, which I recommend." She opens her eyes and glares at me, and I wink. "There are clean clothes in the closet and towels in the bathroom cabinet, help yourself to anything else you need."

"You still owe me that pie recipe."

"Don't get me started on what you owe me," I smirk and she shoves at me.

"Go, I'm not showering with you anywhere within two miles of me."

"You say that now," I grin and stand. "No snooping," I tell her and head out the front door.

* * *

"Elena?" I call out when I get back twenty minutes later, and the fact that I'm doing it makes me feel a little like Ricky Ricardo and I'm due for having a panic attack any second.

But commitment anxiety gets bumped down a notch on my To Do list when she calls back, "Just a sec!" and then the bathroom door opens.

She's the cutest ambassador for the University of Texas I've ever had the good fortune of laying eyes on, decked out in a pair of longhorn-orange pajama pants, a gray UT hoodie, her hair twisted up in a towel and one hell of a smile behind what looks like…

"Is that my toothbrush?" I ask and she rolls her eyes at me. "Gross!" I laugh. "You could have cooties."

"Shut up," she mumbles and then goes back in the bathroom, rinsing out her mouth.

I bluntly watch as she pulls out the towel and then bends over at the waist to dry off her hair, and once she's satisfied, stands up and flips it back like she's in some 80's Whitesnake video. If her next move is to crawl across the floor in a further impersonation of Tawny Kitaen, I may hear myself asking her to move in.

"Enjoying yourself?" she asks cheekily when she catches me staring at her, running her fingers through her wet hair and twisting it around until she lets it hang in a single twist over her shoulder.

I take a drink of my coffee and shrug, heading into the kitchen and listening to her soft footsteps following after me. If you bring the coffee, they will come. I pop the top on the aspirin and pour two into her outstretched palm when she stops next to me, taking them with a generous sip of coffee and moaning appreciatively at the taste. She bites her lip and tilts her head when I start digging the food out of the paper bag, producing a whole bunch of breakfast tacos and more napkins than required by a preschool.

"These are yours," I tell her and pass her the ones marked as cheese, egg and potato, keeping the carnivore versions for myself.

"Thanks," she says quietly, smiling when she sees the labels and then she hops up to sit on the counter.

"Sure you don't want a little chorizo? Does the body good," I tease and she scowls in disgust.

"Yuk. No."

"Freak," I drawl out and take a bite of my favorite post binge cure.

And we eat for a few minutes in a nice, comfortable silence, before she decides to get right to the shit I was hoping to avoid.

"So," she says and takes a sip of her coffee. "I wanted to talk to you about something that we didn't quite get around to, with all the drinking and whatnot."

The "whatnot"? If that's what she wants to call pinning me to the bed and sighing my name down my throat, or stroking her tongue against mine and biting my bottom lip while holding me to her like she was afraid I was gonna disappear. But yeah, talking _is_ kinda hard to do when both of us are enthusiastically partaking in a whole bunch of high-voltage "whatnot."

"Mm-hmm," I mumble and gather our trash, throwing it away.

She pauses for a moment before quietly asking, "How did you find me last night, Damon?"

I smirk at her. "You weren't that hard to spot."

She arches an eyebrow in that frustrated-disappointed look I'm too familiar with, and I take a sip of my coffee.

"You came to get me, didn't you? Because there's no way that you normally leave all your lights on and TV blaring and an entire pizza untouched when you go out for the night."

"Maybe I do," I shrug, and she throws her hands up in exasperation before hopping down from the counter. She turns to walk away and I carefully catch her wrist, waiting until she faces me. "I was at home when I got a call from Mason," I admit. "He was…concerned."

She drops her chin and shakes her head, then looks back up at me and squares her shoulders. "I can take care of myself, you know. You don't have to worry about me."

"I know," I nod. "And if you had wanted me to leave, I would have. I was also fine with you taking care of yourself when that prick had the balls to touch you." She winces and I slide my hand around to the small of her back, pulling her a little closer against me. My other palm gently cups her check, my voice dropping lower. "But I needed to make sure that you were safe."

"Okay," she says quietly, and I nod once.

I let her go and pick up my coffee, leaning back against the counter and watching her fidget for a minute. "Caroline looking for you yet?" I ask lightly, and that loosens her right back up.

"Yeah," she smiles. "Three missed calls, four texts."

"We better get you home before she sends out a search party." I wink and she laughs softly, heading off to grab her dress from where it's hanging up in the bathroom.

And when she comes back out and I lock the front door behind us a minute later, the whole thing is just oddly surreal. I mean, last night was fun and we kinda just went with it, not holding anything back, but I have no clue where we go from here. And it's making me feel like a twelve-year-old needy girl because I'm not sure whether this is something we're going to do again or if she's going to revert right back to the "sometimes friends" label we keep throwing at each other, or if that's a line that_ I'm_ going to be desperate to re-establish once the buzz from the night wears off. I don't really want to be with anyone else, but she's not exactly asking for my phone number either.

Honestly, I'm not sure if I know how to do this. _Date _Elena_. _As in, possibly considering attempting a relationship and that word makes me twitch like fucking crazy and what are we going to do at work now? There's no issue with company policy because the company doesn't care as long as we're not going at it while we're supposed to be taking calls, but I don't know what _Elena's_ policy is anymore. Am I allowed to just kiss her whenever now? I doubt it. Even though I want to.

What I _do_ know is now that I've stopped thinking with my dick, I'm seriously glad I didn't sleep with her for one very specific reason. It hasn't been that long since I've been tested but I'm definitely due, and even as careful as I am, things happen. I feel fine, seem fine, and I've always prepared myself for the possibility that one of my test results could be returned with a big bold "Positive" because it's just part of the deal, the risks I knowingly take with how I choose to live my life. But Elena doesn't roll those dice and the thought that I could have unknowingly passed something to her if we_ had _slept together makes me sick to my stomach.

I won't touch her until I'm sure.

The worst part is that I have no idea how I'm ever going to tell her if something _is_ wrong. She'll never look at me the same way again, but I have to be honest with her. And I can't help but to think that once again, Ric was right. She's so much better than this, than me, and she doesn't deserve to have to deal with this crap.

"Contemplating the best way to fix the national debt?" she says, and it brings me back into awareness.

I glance over at her, looking right at home in the passenger seat of my car, and I flash a smile. "Maybe…"

"You okay?" she asks quietly. "You've spent the last ten minutes looking really, really stressed."

"National debt is stressful stuff," I tease, pulling into my usual parking spot outside her apartment and she turns to face me a little more. I don't even remember the drive over here. That's disconcerting.

"You're freaking out, aren't you?"

"No…" I lie.

"Damon," she sighs at me. "It's fine. I know what kind of guy you are and I'm sure this morning was a little weird for you, and I appreciate everything you did in trying to make me comfortable, but honestly? Last night things got a little carried away and we can just go back to-"

"Can I pick you up later?" I interrupt, and when she blinks at me a few times, I tilt my head at her. "Unless you're busy. You busy?"

"No," she tells me and I smile.

"Okay. I gotta go take care of some stuff, but that should give you a few hours to get some sleep, read a chapter or two in a trashy novel and then burn all your Disney movies, and I'll pick you up around…say four?"

"Are you sure?" she asks doubtfully, and I roll my eyes.

"Look, if you don't-"

"Four's great," she rushes out, and we both kinda stare at each other for a second before I shake my head with a laugh, hooking a hand behind her neck so I can pull her close enough to quickly kiss her.

I pull back with a smirk, and she blushes.

"'Bye," she whispers timidly before getting out of the car, and I blow out a breath as I watch her half-jog up the stairs while wearing my clothes.

Now for the hard part.

* * *

Fuck, I'm so late.

Everything at my doctor's office took forever, along with some bullshit errands like picking up my clothes from the dry cleaners and then trying to speedily clean my apartment because it was a wreck after last night. Then I had to deal with Ric getting all butt hurt when I called to tell him I couldn't hang out, but I forgot that I promised I'd help him work on Jenna's brakes today and I think that was the fastest I've ever done four sets of brake and rotor replacements while he ragged on me for being more concerned about going on a date than getting drunk with him. After that it was stopping by my mom's which never goes as quickly as I need it to, and now I'm pushing four thirty and yeah, late late fucking _late._

I park in front of Elena's apartment and I'm nearly running up the stairs, and it's hot as hell today and the miniscule breeze isn't helping with the fact that there's now a bead of sweat running down my spine under my shirt. I take one second to blow out a breath, swiping my forearm across my forehead, before knocking on the door.

"You're late," Caroline tells me when she opens the door, and I groan.

"She pissed?" I ask and step inside, and Caroline snickers as she closes the door.

"No, I think you did her a favor," she says, going to reclaim her spot on the couch in front of what looks like a show about super yachts. I arch an eyebrow and take a step towards Elena's room, but I pause when I see the half-finished model airplane sitting on the kitchen table. Who are these girls?

I shake my head, wondering if they've got a separate closet they keep their Legos and toy dinosaurs in. I continue to Elena's room, and her door is open and it sounds like she's in the middle of having some war with her closet, and I rap my knuckles on her doorframe.

"Yeah," she calls out and I step inside her room, opening my mouth to say something that I now can't even remember, because my words evaporate when I see her.

She's in a strapless pale-blue dress I've never seen her wear before and it's showing leagues of smooth skin; all of her neck and arms and shoulders and oh yeah, that delicious collarbone, until my view is impeded by the sweetheart neckline that's not actually showing anything, but the arc is getting my heart to thud and thunk and sputter and race.

The rest of the sky-colored fabric is molded perfectly to her chest and stomach, highlighting the delicate curve of her waist until it hits her hips and then begins to float and flutter down to her knees in the best taunt I could imagine. My gaze continues dropping down the rest of her long silky legs right to her barefoot feet, and her toes are newly painted in the lightest shade of bubblegum pink I have ever seen and my mouth is _watering._

I clear my throat, and she narrows her eyes while propping a hand on her hip and then pointing a pair of shoes at me.

"If this isn't appropriate that's your fault because you have no idea how hard it is to get dressed when you have no idea where you're going."

I snort. "Being a chick must suck."

"I am not a 'chick,' and don't call me that," she says and I roll my eyes, stepping forward and snatching the pair of shoes out of her hand. "Hey!"

I hold them above and behind me so they're out of her reach, snaking an arm around her waist and yanking her against me.

"You didn't get a haircut," she says confused and I shake my head, letting the shoes slip from my fingers and crash on the floor.

She giggles quietly when I brush her hair back over her shoulder and duck my head, nudging the shell of her ear with my nose. I inhale her greedily and she smells like blackberry and vanilla lotion and a little bit of my body wash from her shower this morning and a growl rumbles out of my throat, my cock instantly hard.

"You look incredible," I whisper over the bare skin of her neck and she squirms a little.

"That tickles," she laughs softly and my hand on her waist tugs her hips tighter into mine, my lips trailing a line across the top of her shoulder until I gently nip at her. "Don't start," she warns breathlessly, but her fingertips are hooked through my belt loops and her thumbs are tracing the angled ridges between my stomach and hips, following them all the way down until they dip into my jeans before she pauses like she's scared to explore any further.

"Your fault," I chuckle quietly and leave a long kiss of a promise on her skin before I lean back enough to see her eyes. "You can't wear stuff like this and expect me _not_ to go all crazy."

"I don't think you have any settings _other_ than crazy," she tells me, her voice more than a little raspy, and I arch an eyebrow at her.

"True."

I brush my lips against hers and taste the line of her mouth with my tongue, and it's like flipping some secret switch that I'm just starting to recognize because she suddenly squeezes her arms around my neck and can't seem to kiss me deep enough, and I couldn't be happier about it.

She's a maze of triggers I don't understand, but I desperately want to know them and I could spend the rest of the day doing nothing but figuring out which stroke of my tongue is getting her to cling to me like this, or whether it's from my hand buried in her hair or my knee sliding between hers or maybe all of it together or something else entirely that I'm not even recognizing because I _know_ that flavor but my brain isn't working and I just can't find the word…

Fuck it. I have to know.

In a minute.

If I can stop kissing her.

But I'm not counting on it.

"You taste amazing," I mumble when I finally pull back enough to sigh my words over her lips. "What _is_ that?"

"Peppermint," she breathes with a smile, and my eyes roll back with a moan before she's kissing me again and yep, that's what it is.

I don't even _like_ peppermint. But Elena tastes like candy canes and the mental image of her seductively beckoning me with one while wearing a Mrs. Claus negligée is just fucking slaying me.

I hitch one of her legs around my hip and when she moans hungrily at my fingertips tickling the back of her thigh, that would be about the time I just say fuck it and pick her up completely, both of her legs wrapped around my waist with my hands grabbing her ass under her skirt and it's boyshorts all the way. My favorite.

I'm in the middle of a very serious internal argument with myself over how badly I need to shut her bedroom door and how much I don't want to stop touching her and the fact that I really, really want to lay her on the bed so I can undress her when one of her hands slides from my neck to unhook the first button of my shirt, and secret door number I-lost-count it is: urgently stumbling forward until we're stopped by her back roughly bumping into the dresser that's almost as tall as I am.

"Ow," she breathes and I chuckle.

"Sorry," I whisper and go back to rocking my erection against her while one of my hands dares to touch the inside of her thigh and we're wearing way too many goddamn clothes.

Her hand slips under the back of my shirt and she giggles softly. "You're kinda sweaty," she grins and I thrust against her again, getting a delicious gasp for my effort.

"Late, ran the stairs," I tell her quietly and nip at her lip. "And it's hot as hell outsi— Shit!" I burst out and damn near drop her. "We gotta go, like, now."

"What?" she squeaks, and I groan as I set her down.

"Elena, believe me I want nothing more than to continue this, but we _have_ to go."

She blows out a frustrated breath and smoothes out her skirt. "Probably a good idea anyways."

"Don't be like that," I wheedle, then squeeze her hips. "I swear I'll make it up to you later, if you let me."

She crosses her arms. "No, it's fine. What are we doing?"

"We're getting your shoes and your purse and whatever else you need and then we are running out the damn door."

She huffs a laugh and goes to tuck her hair behind her ear because it's all messy from my hands, and my attention catches at a mark on the inside of her upper arm that I don't remember seeing when we worked out together. It's not quite a scar, but it's…something.

I tilt my head and she delicately clears her throat, lowering her hand and clasping them behind her back.

I smile comfortingly and run my knuckles down her arm, then gently pull it forward so I can look more closely at the mark. "This is new," I tell her quietly and she nods. "You hurt yourself?"

"No," she says and blushes. "It's, um, it's my birth control."

"What?" I laugh and she playfully tugs her arm out of my grasp.

"What do you mean 'what'? It's an insert so I don't have to remember to take stupid pills. I thought we were in a hurry?"

"More than ever," I say darkly and she rolls her eyes at me before going to pull a white cardigan off a hanger.

"Are you always late for everything?" she asks sarcastically as she threads her arms through the sleeves, not noticing me dropping a folded piece of paper on her nightstand as I pick up her cellphone and put it in her purse. I narrow my eyes at the photo of the blond guy I still haven't gotten the scoop on, but fuck him. He didn't just have her legs around his waist and her hands unbuttoning his shirt, and that's going to have to keep me satisfied for now.

"Better than being early," I tell her, grabbing her shoes off the floor and then snagging her hand, towing her out of the room.

"Jeez, slow down," she laughs as I lead her hastily towards the front door. "'Bye, Care, I'll be back lat-" she starts, but doesn't get a chance to finish before I shut the front door behind us. "Rude," she scowls at me when we pause outside so she can slip her shoes on her feet.

"You cool with dogs?" I ask as I hand her the purse, and she tilts her head at me as she slings it over her shoulder.

"Sure, why?"

I whistle loudly and Rascal jumps out of the car through the passenger side window that I kept rolled down for him, bounding up the stairs towards us. I step in front of Elena before he can tackle her to the ground in a spastic and happy hello, and she giggles and shrieks when he slams into me and knocks me backwards into her.

"Back off, dork," I scold and nudge him back down, his tail wagging like crazy and tongue hanging out of his mouth. "Rascal," I say seriously and he barks at me once, and when I arch an eyebrow at him he sits down at attention. "This is Elena."

I bring her out from behind me, curling her protectively into my side with my arm around her waist so he knows I won't tolerate anything but him being extremely careful with her.

"Elena," I smile at her, and she is completely lit up. I knew she'd love him. "This is Rascal."

"Hi Rascal," she says sweetly and he licks his lips, fidgeting a little like he wants to jump on her.

Yeah buddy, believe me, I know.

"_Shake,"_ I mouth at him and make the hand gesture down by my side where she can't see, and he extends a paw out to her.

"Oh my goodness!" she giggles and shakes his paw, and I love my dog.

"Stop flirting with my girl, we gotta go," I tell him, and he barks at me before turning to trot back down the stairs, both me and Elena following behind him. Until he starts to clamber his way back in the car through the open window, and my heart stops. "Don't scratch the paint; just wait for me to open the damn door!"

"Stop being so bossy," Elena admonishes and I roll my eyes. "So, where are we going?"

"The real question," I say smoothly, opening the passenger door for her, "is does it even matter?"

She smiles and then tilts her head at me, biting her lip. "Nope," she tells me and then pops open another button on my shirt, sliding into the car while I'm pretty much stuck in place from shock.

"Minx!" I laugh.

"You love it," she says confidently and I shut her door, walking around to the other side.

Woman has me pegged, because I absolutely do.

* * *

**A/N: *happily sighs and melts because they are too adorable for me to function* Been LOVING all of your reviews, and guys? We're at 750. SEVEN HUNDRED AND FIFTY TIMES YOU HAVE TOLD ME YOU THAT YOU LOVE THIS STORY AND I CANNOT EVEN BEGIN TO THANK YOU ENOUGH. I'm getting choked up just thinking about, not exaggerating the littlest bit. Just as a check in, remember that 22 chapter count I mentioned? Bump that up to 24. And now I'm being poked and tickled about adding an epilogue, so we may see 25. How's that work out for y'all? ;) Too much? Well, okay then...**

***big hugs and kisses and jars of peanut butter and unicorns and all sorts of happy fluffy shit for you because you guys are the best***

**-Goldnox**


	15. Faces I See

**A/N: Oh my goodness! You guys rock all my socks off! (Now I have to go buy new socks, totally acceptable arrangement!) **

**All my love to my fabulous beta, Trogdor19, may she find some sleep one day soon. *hugs***

* * *

**Chapter 15: Faces I See**

"Rascal," Elena says excitedly, fully turned in the passenger seat to look into the back where her new best friend is panting eagerly at her attention, and I squeeze her hand before letting her go so I can downshift to pull into the driveway. "What's on the top of the house?"

He barks and she coos at him, reaching back to rub his cheeks and behind his ears and he's totally soaking it up.

"That's right! The roof!" she tells him proudly, and I snort.

We've spent the last few hours at the dog park, throwing his purple Frisbee in an effort to distract him. Because apparently Rascal has deemed me a threat to Elena's person and has been getting super overprotective every time I kiss or touch her. Crazy fucking dog. But basically we've just been running around and laughing and reveling in the sunset and having a total and complete blast.

When my dog isn't knocking me around, trying to get me away from my…from Elena.

"Who do you love best? Me or Damon?" she asks him as I turn off the car, and he damn near jumps into her lap.

"Hey!" I call out and nudge him into backseat with my elbow, his paws bunching up the towel I put down for him in an effort to save my upholstery. Although, it doesn't help when Rascal refuses to stay in the back where he's supposed to. "Traitor!"

"See?" she beams at me. "He totally loves me best!"

I grin and shake my head. "You two are ridiculous."

"You're just jealous," she says haughtily, then turns around to rub and pet Rascal some more. "Isn't he?" she says all babyish. "Isn't he just so jealous?" He barks at her and I roll my eyes. "I know! I know he is, but that's okay. We won't tell him, will we? No…"

Rascal tries to clamber up into her lap again and she giggles adorably, and it only encourages him more.

"Alright, knock it off," I tell him and scratch under his chin before gently pushing him off of her. "If you get past first base before I do, you're in deep shit."

"Damon!" Elena gasps and I look at her.

"What? It's the truth."

"You're just…" she says in that gorgeous hates-that-she-loves-it, reprimand-face she does.

"Just what?" I smirk and unbuckle my seatbelt.

I lean over to kiss her, Elena not even bothering to act nervous or coy about it anymore, and I'm a breath away from my goal when my damn dog starts growling at me.

We both turn to look at him from where's he watching us closely, his body preparing to leap into the front seat, and then he licks me in the face.

"Jesus! That's disgusting!"

"Guess he does love you more," she winks at me and I narrow my eyes at her.

"Hilarious," I deadpan, wiping off my face. "Alright, I'm just dropping him off inside and then we're heading out._ You're_ not coming," I tease, and she bats her eyelashes at me in a level ten pout.

"Please?" she says and I wrinkle my nose, shaking my head at her. "I haven't seen her in forever since you kidnapped me last weekend and it'll only be a few minutes."

"No," I say seriously for probably the fifth time now. "We are _not_ hanging out with my mother."

"Damon," she whines and I groan, dropping my forehead to the steering wheel.

"Five minutes, Gilbert," I concede, because she's just so damn cute and I'm totally fucked because yep, I'm addicted to her smile. "Five minutes and then we're leaving."

"No promises," she whispers and then she's hopping out of the car, far beyond my scrabbling reach.

She grins proudly as she stands with the door open, not at all concerned with me scowling at her, and as soon as she whistles Rascal immediately barrels past me to jump out of the car. She snickers and shuts the door, practically skipping away.

"Mm-hmm," I nod when I reach them by the front door, Elena tilting her head at me innocently.

"What? I had no idea he would do that…"

"Sure you didn't," I tell her, and then start peppering a whole bunch of kisses all over her cheek and neck while she giggles and squirms.

"You're covered in dog slobber!" she laughs as Rascal starts barking like crazy, and I pull back from her.

"You love it," I tell her then open the door.

"Crazy," she mutters as I poke my head in, and I don't see my mom. I let Rascal run through the door and then I turn around.

"She's not here, let's go…"

"Baby, is that you?" my mom calls from the kitchen and I sigh in defeat, Elena grinning happily and lightly pushing me backwards through the door and into the house.

"Don't you ever leave?" I call back as I close the door, and Elena shoves my shoulder.

"What on earth is that supposed to mean?" she calls back. "And you have good timing because I need you to come open this jar..."

I grab Elena by the hips, spinning us around so her back is pressed against the door and she gasps in shock. "Damon!" she breathes with a wide smile, and slowly I peel one corner of her white cardigan off of her shoulder.

Delicately, I kiss the skin it was hiding before my lips trail over every inch of space that separates her shoulder from her neck, and when I nudge my hips harder against hers and nip behind her ear, her back arches under a hushed moan.

"It's completely stuck!" my mom whines and Elena jumps. "God, who makes these things?"

"Are you going to go help her?" Elena whispers and I shake my head no, then continue my exploration to the underside of her jaw. Her hands cradle my cheeks and tilt my face up so I'm forced to look at her eyes, and I pout dramatically. "Are you even going to tell her I'm here?"

"Why? Then she'll never let us leave…" I whisper back playfully.

And troublemaker that she is, Elena tugs my mouth to hers and kisses me hungrily, and I'm fully on board with this plan when I realize she's walking us backwards. Hopefully towards a bedroom.

I stumble down the slight step that drops the foyer into the living room and she laughs softly, scurrying away to go stand on the other side of the couch because I lost my grip on her when I also apparently forgot the layout of the house I lived in for the majority of my life.

"Cheater," I hiss as I take a menacing step forward, and she darts further away, holding up a warning finger with a beautifully bright smile as she straightens her cardigan.

"Baby, what are you _doing_?" Mom says and I arch an eyebrow at Elena. "I need your help because this jar is not going to be the reason why I meet an early gra— Elena!" my mom suddenly squeals and both Elena and I turn to see her standing at the entryway between the kitchen and the living room, looking like I just brought her that really disturbing wish of a miniature version of Martha Stewart that she gets to keep in her apron.

Woman is cracked.

"Hi Anita," Elena beams and immediately rushes over to hug her, both of them squeezing the other tight and we are _never_ getting out of here.

"Oh my goodness!" my mom gushes, pulling back to grip Elena by the shoulders even with the jar of mustard still in her hand. "You look beautiful, honey! It is so good to see you!"

"Thank you," Elena tells her graciously. "I'm so sorry I missed you last week, but _someone_," she says pointedly and glances at me, "changed my plans at the last minute."

"Oh, sweetheart, it's fine. I know you probably have better things to do with your time than to gossip with an old bird like me," my mom coos at her and I loudly clear my throat, crossing my arms as I lean against the back of the couch. "Hello Damon," my mom says flatly without even bothering to look at me, and I scoff.

"What did I do?"

She hugs her arms around Elena's shoulders, both of them looking over at me with their temples pressed together, and Elena seems happier than I've ever seen her while she's sober and my mom is glaring at me and this is ludicrous.

"You didn't tell me you were dating _Elena_," my mom scolds and I roll my eyes.

"How was I supposed to know you guys were besties?"

"That's beside the point," she tells me and I push off from the couch, walking over to where they're still joined at the hip. I snag the mustard jar out of my mom's hand and twist the lid off easily, then smirk and carry it into the kitchen. "Didn't I tell you he was handsome?" I hear her whisper to Elena and I shake my head.

"You weren't kidding," Elena laughs and I stand a little taller. Okay, maybe this isn't that bad.

"Wait 'til you see his baby pictures, kid was a born looker…"

"Fuck no!" I yell out and both of them simultaneously screech my name in a reproach.

God, it's like they've been practicing or something.

"No time for pictures, we're leaving," I say and go to stand behind Elena, unsuccessfully trying to pry her loose from my mom while they laugh and cling to each other, refusing to let go. Rascal starts barking and growling at me, and I throw my hands up in exasperation.

"Sweetheart, are you hungry?" my mom asks Elena, leading her into the living room. "I was just about to eat dinner…"

"That sounds wonderful, Anita, thank you," Elena tells her and after I have a silent, spastic freak-out-gesture-fest that neither of them see, I go to follow them, openly glaring when they sit down on the couch. Side by side.

"Stop making that face, you're always hungry and it's not like I'm not going to feed you too," my mom says and turns back to her favorite person ever. "So, honey, how have you been? I'm so excited you're here! But please don't tell me he's been letting that dog jump all over you…"

"He can hear you," I say and collapse into the oversized chair next to the couch.

"He's been very nice," Elena tells her and I smile sarcastically at my mom.

"What do you think you're doing? Go check on dinner," my mom snaps at me and Elena bites her lip to hide her laugh.

I drop my head back with a groan and then haul myself up, tossing a throw pillow at Elena. "You remember this," I tell her pointedly and she blushes. "Come on, Rascal, there's way too much estrogen in this room anyways."

I start to head into the kitchen with my dog following dutifully behind me, Mom calling out, "Don't feed that animal anything but dog food. Do you hear me, Damon?"

"Yeah yeah yeah," I mumble and wash my hands, and my face from where he licked me earlier.

I glance around and she's got a bowl of chips out because the woman is a snacker if I've ever met one, but what the fuck was the mustard for? Whatever. I pop a chip in my mouth and then toss one to Rascal.

"Damon!"

God, how does she do that? She can't even see me…

"What?" I mumble while chewing, listening to them already chattering away about stuff I can't make out and probably don't want to know, and I check the oven. I blow out a breath when I see she's got a pot roast in there which smells awesome, but yeah, that's a problem.

I look at Rascal and he licks his lips.

"What are we gonna do about that, huh?" I ask him and he tilts his head at me. "Yeah, you're no help. Go distract Elena from whatever Mom is saying, and I'll give you a treat," I tell him and flare my eyes, and he bounds off to the living room; Elena bursting out in giggles two seconds later as my mom yells at him to get down.

Dog is a fucking badass.

* * *

I finish setting the table and peek at Mom and Elena still in the living room, happily talking and laughing and both almost finished with their glasses of wine I took them earlier. I'm not sure how I got wrangled into making them dinner, but if I'm going to do it, I'm going to do it right.

I go back and finish carving the pot roast, serving what will be mine and my mom's plates before setting them aside and taking the rolls I made from scratch out of the oven. They're perfectly fluffy and golden brown, and they're going to melt in Elena's mouth like cotton candy. Then it's a few finishing touches on Elena's salad: a masterpiece of spinach tossed in my kickass raspberry vinaigrette then topped with a diced pear, a sprinkling of toasted walnuts and bleu cheese crumbles. Fuck you, Emeril.

I carry everything over to the table, and we're looking mighty fine.

"What have you been doing in there, baby?" my mom asks from the living room and I cross my arms, leaning against the table.

"You told me to check on dinner, so I did, and took care of all the crap that you forgot. Senile that you are."

"And what did I forget?" she asks haughtily and I roll my eyes, Elena giving me an amused smile as she takes her last sip of wine.

"_Bread_, Mom."

"Oh no, what would we ever do without bread?" she says sarcastically, then turns to whisper at Elena. "He makes the best rolls, Elena. Has he cooked for you?"

"No," she says while grinning at me. "But I'm promised a recipe or two."

"We'll see about that," I tell her and push off the table to grab the bottle of wine from the kitchen.

"Elena, do you like pot roast?" I hear my mom ask and I chuckle quietly as Elena delicately clears her throat.

"Everything smells wonderful, Anita," she says in that perfected dodge she uses at work, and I barely contain my snort.

"We gonna eat or what?" I call out and take the wine to the table, finding both of them getting up from the couch.

"Thank you, baby, the table looks lovely," my mom smiles when she walks past me to head to the sink.

"_Pot roast,"_ Elena mouths worriedly once my mom can't see, and I walk into the living and take Elena's glass, running a hand down her arm.

"Took care of it," I tell her quietly and she breathes a sigh of relief.

"Thank you," she whispers, then bites her lip with an adorable nose wrinkle that I'm quickly becoming a total sucker for. "I need to wash my hands…"

"Bathroom's at the end of the hall," I smile and nod, letting her go.

And I'm not sure why, though maybe it's because I've been subconsciously waiting for this since the moment we pulled into the driveway, but I watch her carefully as she makes her way down the hall. She doesn't seem to notice the pictures that line the wall at first, but then something seems to catch her eye and she does a double take, stopping completely.

I set down her empty wine glass on the coffee table and she's so focused on staring at the photo she's standing in front of, she doesn't even register it when I stop behind her.

"I'm on the left," I tell her quietly and she jumps a little, then leans back against me.

"You have a brother," she breathes and I watch her profile, waiting for her to recall that siblings were a not-so-sunny skeleton in my closet. Although it's possible she was too drunk to remember all of the conversation we had in my car after the night we spent at the lake. "A _twin,_ Damon."

"Mm-hmm."

She peeks over her shoulder to smile at me. "You could be someone else entirely, for all I know," she teases. "I mean, look at you guys! Talk about identical…"

I clear my throat. "Yeah, Mom's the only one that ever got us straight."

"Exactly, so how do I know you're _you_ and not…"

"Devon," I supply and she shakes her head.

"You think you know a person," she says playfully, then returns to looking at the picture of me and Devon.

We're standing side by side with our arms crossed, him smiling in a black t-shirt while I'm scowling in a white one, and it was the last picture we ever took together, just a few weeks before it happened.

"I bet you two had all the girls at school falling for you," she says happily, and I swallow. "Does he still live in Austin?"

I wrap my arms around her and drop my lips to her shoulder, knowing this one is going to hit her hard. She can barely stomach the deaths of strangers when we're at work, and she always, always cries. It's one thing to hear the names, but to see his face right in front of her…to be in his home, his mother a few feet away.

I'll be lucky if she doesn't spend the rest of the night in tears.

"I need to tell you something," I whisper and she turns in my arms, her hands settled on my chest. And when she sees my expression, her peaceful countenance falls.

"What's wrong?" she asks quietly, her head tilted worriedly, and when I take a deep breath, her eyes widen.

"I need you to try to stay calm," I say quietly and nod my head towards where my mother is rustling around in the kitchen doing God knows what.

Elena's eyes dart to the kitchen and then back at me. "No, Damon…" she pleads softly, her breathing picking up and hands shaking as they fist into my shirt.

"About nine years ago," I tell her as gently as I can, and her eyes are already sparkling with unshed tears. I pull her a little closer and she tucks her face into my neck, her whole body lightly trembling as she grips me tighter. "Devon died."

"What happened?" she whispers and I soothingly rub her back, laying my cheek to her hair.

"He had an asthma attack," I say and clear my throat. "And it got out of control before we could do anything to stop it."

"Oh God, Damon…" she whimpers and I massage my fingers into her hair, something moving in my peripheral vision.

I barely turn my head and see my mom standing at the entrance to the living room, an arm crossed over her chest and her other hand covering her mouth. I offer her a soft smile and mouth, _"It's okay,"_ and she nods, disappearing back into the kitchen.

Elena sniffles. "Do you…"

"No," I tell her quietly. "I've always been fine, no problems breathing or with anything else. Perfectly healthy."

She blows out a relieved breath and I pull back slightly to wipe her tears away, smiling at her comfortingly.

"Now," I drawl, "we need to go eat before Rascal jumps on the table and devours everything in sight."

She tries to smile through her tears, then blows out another shaky breath and I tilt my head.

"We can leave," I say softly. "Just say the word."

"No," she tells me and shakes her head. "I just…"

"I know," I nod. "But we're okay. I'm fine and Mom's fine and you being here is going to make her whole year. I think she loves you more than _me_," I tease and Elena huffs a small laugh. "Go wash up," I tell her quickly. "I'm starving."

"Are you _always _hungry?" she asks, and I nod emphatically. She rolls her eyes and stretches up to give me one light kiss before turning and heading down the hallway, softly shutting the bathroom door behind her.

I scrub a hand over my face. Now onto the next one.

I head into the kitchen to find my mom standing at the sink, her hands braced on the counter and her head hung low.

"Mom," I say tentatively and she straightens with a light sniffle.

"What is it, baby?"

I go to stand next to her, and she looks away to wipe at her eyes. "Haven't gotten my hug today," I lie, and she whips around to squeeze my middle, laying her head on my chest.

"She didn't know, did she?" Mom asks unsteadily and I shake my head.

"No, but she's fine." I hear Elena's footsteps enter the kitchen behind me and pause, and I wave her over.

Elena's bottom lip is quivering when she comes to stand next to us, and very carefully, she runs a hand down my mother's back as she works her other arm around my waist. My mom's head lifts and I see a single tear running down her cheek before she lets go of me with one arm, encircling Elena as they lay their heads on each other's shoulders, but also against me.

No one says anything as we stand there in the kitchen with both of them slightly shaking and intermittently sniffling, one of my hands combing through blond hair and the other through brown, all of us wrapped around each other and Rascal just watching, looking more concerned than a dog should be able to.

If he starts crying too…I don't know what I'm going to do.

I squeeze them both lightly. "So fucking hungry," I whine and they both pull away to glare at me.

"Good luck, Elena," my mom says and tucks Elena's hair behind her ear. "Boy's been eating me out of house and home since _forever_."

"Doesn't surprise me a bit," Elena smiles then loops her arm though my mom's, both of them walking towards the table.

I swallow and run a hand through my hair, going to join them and sitting across from Elena.

"This looks amazing," she smiles at me and I shake my head with a light laugh.

"Damon," my mom says all disappointed and I glance at her. "Elena can have some pot roast; I can make more and I thought you knew how to _share_."

I scoff and grab a roll, tearing off a chunk. And while I'm still looking at my mom, I throw the bite-sized piece of bread at Elena who immediately jumps and softly giggles. "There, I shared."

I smile mockingly and my mom rolls her eyes, Elena covering her face with her hands to hide her quiet laugh.

"Elena, would you like some pot roast?" my mom asks and Elena pulls her hands away to set them in her lap like the well-mannered little girl she is, blushing spectacularly.

"She doesn't eat meat, Mom."

"Damon!" Elena hisses all embarrassed, and I flare my eyes at her.

"What? You don't."

"Oh my goodness, Elena, I'm so sorry!"

"For fuck's sake," I mumble, but my mom doesn't even stop to scold me.

"I would've made something else if I would have known…"

"Anita, it's fine," Elena soothes at her and I roll my eyes while spearing a carrot. I hold it down to a waiting Rascal, who eats it immediately.

"Damon!" my mom reproaches while Elena laughs, and I glance up.

"What?"

"Don't give that dog my food!"

"It's _my_ food," I tell her and set the fork down, getting the spare I grabbed purposefully for that reason and then take a bite.

And I can tell they're both just sitting there and staring at me for _planning_ to share my dinner with my dog, and I ignore them.

No use wasting a damn fine pot roast.

* * *

"Leslie riding his bicycle in a thong and heels again?" I ask flatly, pulling into the parking spot in front of Elena's apartment.

"Hmm…" she responds automatically, not even bothering to look away from the window she's been staring out of for the last twenty minutes.

We haven't said a word since we left my mom's. The rest of dinner was fine, I guess, Elena smiling and laughing when appropriate, but there's something burning up the space in her mind and God knows the shit going through my mine isn't Leslie, the homeless whackjob who likes to ride around the city in nothing more than a drag getup, but I'd almost rather be thinking about that.

Probably because I'm fully into an anxiety attack from my mom pulling me aside right before we left, telling me, _"I'm so happy for you, Damon. Elena is exactly the kind of girl I'd always hoped you'd marry."_

Yeah, talk about going from zero to total fucking meltdown with a quick motherly whisper when Elena wasn't close enough to hear.

At least, I hope she wasn't.

But maybe she was.

Anyways, after my mother conveniently switched my settings from calm and content to Get The Fuck Outta Here, into the car we went: seatbelts buckled and my engine rumbling in the air that's hanging between us and I'm twitching like crazy and I keep tugging at my collar but it's already unbuttoned and Elena has no concept that anything exists other than a tempered pane of glass between her and the street signs that were whizzing by since my foot was stomped on the gas pedal.

It's just that word. _Marriage_.

I mean, I haven't even slept with Elena. She could be a complete burnout, missionary all the way and only with the lights off and while still wearing her protective cardigans, and I can't live like that. I need to fuck dirty and hard and long and in every way imaginable, and _often_.

And it's not just about the sex we're_ not_ having, because there's so much shit about me and her that will never work. She's completely uptight and I'm unapologetically blunt, she has baby-soft feelings and I have a total lack of knowing what the hell to do when presented with them other than to make a joke and change the subject. There's also the fact that I still want to go to bars and have fun because yeah, I'm young, and she spends her time acting like she's eighty years old and I don't know what the fuck I'm doing with her in my car after having dinner with my _Mom_, telling her about my brother and introducing her to my goddamn dog.

That's _my _fucking dog. _Mine._

I glance in the rearview mirror and the guy staring back at me cocks an eyebrow, because he and I both know I don't play whipped and committed and all the shit that this is starting to become.

I am _not_ this guy.

No matter how much I may like her.

I'm parked but I leave the ignition running, and I clear my throat. She glances at me and seems to register where we are, and I arch an eyebrow.

"Sorry, just have a lot on my mind," she tells me softly and I nod slowly because yeah, no shit. "Do you want to come up? We can talk for a bit…"

Talk? No. I don't want to talk. I have absolutely no interest in answering a thousand questions about how my brother died and what that was like for me and how soon we're going to see my mother again or when exactly Elena would like me to cut off my balls so she can carry them in her purse next to her bottle of hand sanitizer. What I _want_ is for Elena to get out of my car so I can go back to my "bachelor" apartment and get changed, then head straight to a bar where I can flirt my way between a new set of legs and have whoever ride me until the sun rises.

Which is exactly what I _should_ be doing on a Saturday night.

"I'm gonna head home, Elena," I tell her and her brow furrows, and this is exactly why I don't _do_ this shit.

I don't need disappointment.

I need no expectations, except for when it comes to my skills in getting them off.

"Okay," she nods, and I force a smile.

"See you later," I say quickly in a blatant cue for her to get the fuck away from me, because for some reason my dick hasn't caught up yet and it still wants to get under that dress, despite my brain screaming that the only thing under there is quicksand.

She tilts her head at me, and I lock my muscles down.

Don't go there, Elena. I swear to God, because I'll give it to you straight and you're not gonna like what I'm going to tell you.

"Goodnight," she says and my eyes widen, a little surprised at her acceptance of me basically kicking her out, and then she's shutting the passenger door and I'm pulling onto the street before she probably made it up the first three stairs and I don't care.

Because I'm _free_.

I finally get home and nearly run to my shower, washing off the scent of blackberry and vanilla that's still clinging to me. I brush my teeth and rinse my mouth, and it's spearmint everything. No peppermint anywhere nearby and thank Christ for that. Next is splashing on the cologne that's a surefire magnet for blond and tipsy and kinky as all hell, and I don't even look at my shaving cream because the poor piece of crap was reduced to an art product for drawing butterflies on my bathroom mirror. I grab the can and throw it away, then kick the laundry basket that's housing my black Metallica t-shirt along with the hoodie and pants that _no one_ wore last night and most of this morning before _no one_ took her shower, and I head to my closet.

I tug on my best jeans and ignore the empty place where my UT hoodie and pajama pants should be, but aren't because she wore them home.

They don't exist. They never existed.

My heart is pounding and my gaze is focused on the navy blue button down that slays thongs like it's the Excalibur, and I'm reaching for the hanger when I hear it.

I pinch my eyes closed and shake my head. That didn't just happen. It's not happening.

It happens again.

I slam my closet door closed and head to the front door without bothering to put on a shirt because it's going to turn her away that much faster if she's uncomfortable, and just because I'm a dick, I undo the button on my jeans and let the fact that I'm not wearing boxers be known. That should get her running back to the land of Matlock and orthopedic shoes faster than anything.

I open the door and Elena stomps past me, barging inside like she owns the place. Talk about entitled. Not to mention prissy and stuck up and clingy and a whole bunch of reasons why I need to get her out of here so I can go get laid by a chick who actually understands the meaning of the words "fuck me."

I shut the door and turn around, leaning against it with a thumb hooked into my pocket so it pulls my zipper down just a tiny bit more and exposes my naked hip, and she looks _pissed._

"Come on in," I say sarcastically and she narrows her eyes at me, then holds up the folded piece of paper I left on her nightstand when I picked her up for our pussy-ass date.

"What the hell is this?" she snaps at me, and I lift my chin.

Here we go.

* * *

**A/N: WHOOO! Someone's freaking out. (It was bound to happen lol) I've been having such a blast reading all your reviews, keep 'em coming! Especially the double hitters, when you come back with an OH! AND I FORGOT TO ASK ABOUT... Totally makes my day! Happy Thursday to you all, and I'll see you next chapter when things get a little...life changing ;) (I know, I'm so mean!)**

**-Goldnox**


	16. Say Something

**A/N: OKAY OKAY! LOL Here is your update, my sweet sweet readers! And HOLY HELL GUYS! We are over 900 reviews! I am so astounded and truly grateful, I never in my wildest dreams imagined it would come to this. Just speechless.**

**Trogdor19, you are the wind in my kite, the Sunny D in my Texas Screwdriver, and the bacon in my beans. There are no words for your glittery awesomeness.**

**So, music is a MAJOR part of my life and inspiration. I am always, always on Pandora (seriously, like 18 hours a day and I got told that I was no longer allowed to use their free program because I listened to too much music. *snort* THAT'S DEDICATION, FOLKS!) But anyways, the reason I'm telling you this is because occasionally a song or two hits me so hard that I end up playing it on repeat. For DAYS. One of those was _Say Something by A Great Big World_ (which incidentally was incorrectly used in TVD long after I wrote this chapter, but don't get me started) and that's why we have the title of this chapter. And if you're interested, I also highly recommend _Sunlounger, Change Your Mind (Chill Mix)_ because OMG I think I bumped up the YouTube count on that song by like 1000. **

**Anyways, Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 16: Say Something**

"Well, Damon?" Elena snaps as she brandishes the folded paper at me.

"As far as I recall, it's not exactly a slam book, _Elena_."

"What makes you think that I want to see this?" she says all hurt and offended, and I roll my eyes. "These are your STD test results."

"Oh, is that what they are?" I say sarcastically, batting away the paper when she balls it up and throws it at me. "And I don't see what the big fucking deal is, seeing as how they're _negative_."

"I think you and I need to get something straight." She points her righteous finger at me and I cross my arms to keep from mocking the gesture. "Whatever crap you used to pull on other women, that's your business. No one is perfect and I am trying to overlook the completely offensive nature of all that you've been doing and trust you because so far, you haven't treated me like that. So the big deal," she says and takes a breath like she's trying to calm down, "is that by showing me this you are basically waving a flag in my face, and all that does is make me question whether I should even be seeing you."

I snort. "Hate to break this to you, Elena. But we're not seeing each other."

Her mouth gapes. "What is going on with you?" she asks, her voice high and confused, and I refuse to let her see me swallow.

"We've said from the beginning that we're friends. Barely. We're _not_ dating."

"Then what was today? Because you've repeatedly gone out of your way to be considerate and sweet to me, and now you're just bailing?"

I don't say anything, and she shakes her head disappointedly.

Then her brow furrows and I shift my weight. "Is this because of Devon?" she says quietly, and I flinch at how easily she just said his name. "I'm _sorry,_ Damon. I never meant to pry into your life like that, I just didn't realize-"

"This has nothing to do with that," I cut her off. "I just don't want to see you anymore."

"I thought we weren't seeing each other?" she volleys back and I lock my jaw closed. "I just…I don't understand this. I gave you an out this morning, and you were the one that refused to take it. So what happened between then and now?"

"You don't have to understand," I growl as I push off from the door, and she squares her shoulders when I stop in front of her. "I can't _do_ the committed boyfriend thing, Elena," I say harshly, but my fucking traitorous voice wavers and Elena's shoulders sag and that just pisses me off even more. "That's not me."

"Damon," she says quietly in that too-familiar frustrated voice, reaching up to cradle my face in her hands. "You're doing better than you think. You just have to stop being such a jerk all the time."

I push her hands away and when her eyes begin to sparkle with tears, I steel myself against it.

This has to happen. It's already gone too far and she's too close and this shit has to end before I'm strangled and it's too late. And if she thinks I'm going to bow and scrape while she passes out a rule book on how she wants me to behave, she couldn't be more wrong. It's past time to set her straight, and if I have to make her cry to get this done, then so be it.

"How can you do this?" she whispers. "I thought…" She trails off and wipes at the tears rolling down her cheeks, and my throat clamps closed. "I care about you, Damon…"

"Well, you _can't_," I snap and she jumps back. "And I don't know what you thought, but whatever this was, it's done. So you need to leave."

"That's what you want? For me to go?" she asks and I cross my arms. "Because I will."

I push my fists harder into my ribs.

This is what I wanted: to be free.

It's what I've always needed.

But I look at Elena's trembling lower lip and the smudge of makeup around her eyes, the teardrop opal earrings that she never wears to work but she put on for me, and all of this is just so completely fucked up. A few hours ago we were laughing and teasing, touching and kissing, and to anyone who saw us at the park with Rascal it would have seemed like we were undoubtedly happy and completely infatuated with one another. Because we were.

But now she's crying and looking utterly devastated, and the problem is, she's too understanding of my faults and she's too patient with me when she shouldn't be. She sees too much and makes me feel better about everything without even knowing that she's doing it, and she doesn't drive me insane in the ways that I need her to, the ways I expected she would.

The problem is that she cares about me, and I care too much about her and _I can't do that_.

I bite the inside of my cheeks, and Elena wipes at her face again. "You're not even going to say anything," she says softly, disappointed in me like always, and she hugs her arms around herself.

I keep my jaw locked closed, and she nods.

"You know," she says brokenly, "you're the one who told me that real romance was about fighting for the woman you loved, no matter the obstacles. I hope someday you find someone worth fighting for." Her voice cracks and she brushes past me, storming out of my apartment and life and I close my eyes when the door slams closed behind her.

* * *

I don't understand what it is, but something _hurts._

It took me five minutes to move after that door closed, and since then I've just been sitting on the edge of my bed, my head hung in my hands as my mind spins and chest aches, stomach twisting.

And I shouldn't feel this way. My whole life, I've been sure of who I am. I know what I'm capable of, what fights I can win, and I don't let people push me around or try to make me into something that I'm not because I've always been honest with myself.

I am not my brother, who was more compassionate and patient than I've ever been.

I am not Ric, who is thrilled to let his life revolve around Jenna's happiness and would do anything to make her smile.

I am a cold, cocky, selfish bastard who has never cared about anything except for what mattered to _me, _and if that pissed off other people, that was their problem. I can't afford to care, to let them get close enough to rip me in half again when they eventually go. There won't be anything left.

I should've kept it simpler, less complicated. _Casual_. That's the rule I live by and I've never broken it. And my mom shouldn't have said that crap about marriage, but honestly, I can't really blame her. She's never seen me be like that with a woman, cook them dinner and hold them when they cry, because I don't do that stuff. And I sure as shit don't bring them home.

I groan when I realize I'm going to have to tell my mom to forget about ever seeing me and Elena together like that again, and I doubt Elena is going to keep being friends with her because that would be the most awkward shit I could ever imagine. I am the worst son, just fucking ever.

I am the worst everything.

And I never _wanted_ to hurt Elena. I just need options. To be able to go out, to see my friends without having to check with anyone first. To drink and flirt without feeling guilty or glancing over my shoulder. But the truth is, right now nothing sounds worse than doing the things that have made up my life for the past few years because they aren't as fun without her. And what's really scaring the fuck out of me is that despite the fact that I don't know how to be what she needs, and if I try, she's only going to end up disappointed, there's a huge part of me that still wants her.

It's _Elena._ She's the only woman I've ever known that can match me word for word, who is not afraid to put me in my place and who looks just as amazing in my oversized hoodies as she does in a baby blue strapless dress. Who surprises me, constantly. The woman I find myself wanting to spend my days with, not just my nights.

And I told her to go because I'm too terrified to admit that I think I'm falling for her, and—

Dammit, what the fuck did I do?

I shake my head at myself and release a deep breath. I've been sitting here too long already and it's not solving anything. I need to get up, get dressed, and leave. I don't really want to go to a bar but I still owe Mason those drinks and he's always good for a few laughs, and I could use some distracting stories of his latest misadventures. I wince when I realize he's going to ask me about Elena and what happened after I came to get her from the bar the other night.

Ric's is always a possibility, but again, he's going to ask how my date with Elena went. And I'm not exactly down on getting another lecture about what an asshole I am when I have to tell him the shit I pulled tonight, not that it would surprise him. The addition of Jenna's glares and possible semi-violent outburst? Also not looking too enticing.

Someone knocks on my neighbor's door and I flinch, but don't move. They're always having people come and go, and I listen dazedly to the sounds of someone loudly laughing, a pause and then someone coughing and then more laughter. Everyone else is going on with their lives, happy and clueless, and yet, I'm still just sitting here. I've never felt less like being around other people. The idea of smiling is nauseating. I slide my hands over my ears to cover the sounds of my neighbors, but it's useless. The harder I try to block them out, the more the silence hurts and I'm fucked no matter what I do.

My front door opens and my head snaps up, Elena standing there with her hand on the doorknob and my folded clothes in the other. Her eyes are red and a single tear is rolling down her cheek, and it's killing me that I did that to her. No one should ever make her cry.

I cover my fist with my palm and press them into my mouth. She's _right there_ and staring at me in shock, and there's nothing I can say to her. Not after all the horrible shit that left my mouth an hour ago.

"I…" she starts and sniffles, and the sound slices through me. "I knocked, but you didn't answer and I just wanted to give you your stuff back and I'd rather not do this at work."

I nod and slowly stand as she steps inside but leaves the door open, and I don't dare meet her eyes as I walk over to her, but somehow I still see every quaver of her bottom lip.

I take the hoodie and pants and t-shirt from her, her eyelashes sweeping down when my fingertips graze her hand. I toss the clothes on my bed, and when I turn back to her I don't stop myself from brushing the back of my knuckles over the tear on her cheek, wiping it away.

Her eyes pinch tighter closed and another tear escapes, and then she turns away from my touch and heads right for the door.

"Elena," I say softly and she pauses, her back to me.

And I know I shouldn't, but I _have _to, and I step forward until I'm close enough to wrap my arms around her, holding her as tight against me as I need to. I drop my forehead to her neck and breathe her in, telling myself not to kiss her. I don't have the right to do that anymore.

"You are worth fighting for," I whisper, and as I grip her tighter she turns her face away from me, her shoulders shaking.

"I'm done playing games, Damon," she says angrily, her voice thick with tears, and I nod.

"I know."

"Then you better figure out right now what it is you want."

"You," I rush out. "I want you."

She waits a long time before choking out, "You can't do this again."

"I know that too," I admit and she shakes her head.

She takes a shaky breath, and I hold mine.

"You are such an asshole," she tells me and I close my eyes, unprepared for when she suddenly whips around to wrap her arms around my neck.

I huff out a breath in shock, then hold her with everything I have. Everything that she deserves and I don't.

It's limitless minutes that I don't want to end, just stupid thankful and unbelievably scared and crazy relieved as we stand there, finding a rhythm to calm ourselves to that's rooted in each other. It's in the hand I have buried in her hair, massaging her scalp to the echo of her unsteady breaths, finally slowing as her chest molds to mine. And as I support her weight because she's giving it all to me to protect, I'm telling every instinct I have that is screaming for me to run to shut the fuck up, because she's still here and no one has ever fit like she does. And Elena fits me perfectly.

I don't know why it took me three years to see her, _really_ see her, for all that she is. She was right in front of me the whole time and I missed it because of cubicle walls and a headset and an Auto In button that I hate. But it's been three years and a couple of weeks and even fewer dates, and I finally give up because it's useless to pretend that this isn't happening.

I'm in love with her.

I hold her tighter because who knows how long I'll get before I do something else that sends her storming out, and she squeezes me once before she lets me go, leaning back to wipe at her drying eyes.

"Are you going to explain to me why your personality just yo-yoed like crazy over the last few hours?"

I wince but try to hide it by tucking her hair behind her ears, but I doubt that fools her. She usually sees right through my bullshit.

"Low blood sugar?" I try and she arches an eyebrow at me. I blow out a breath. "Panicked," I confess quietly, toying with the collar of her sweater. "My mom said some shit that set me off and..." I make the gesture and sound effects for an atomic explosion, and I get half a smile from her.

"You're really going to blame your mom for turning you into a world class jerk?" she says, her voice carrying a hint of a reprimand, but it's mostly just to hide the touch of amusement, and I nod emphatically because I can totally live with that ratio. "Crazy," she mumbles and when she stretches up to press her lips against mine, I gasp. Like I'm in some sort of a goddamn chick flick.

But she either doesn't notice or she's trying to save my ego because she continues to kiss me sweetly, giving me some kind of promise that I've never felt before but I _need_ it, and when she rocks back down onto her heels to rewind her arms under mine, laying her head on my chest, a whole lot of something clicks into place.

I hug my arms around her neck and drop my lips to her hair, taking a moment to soak her in before very quietly I tell her, "I swear I wasn't waving a flag with the test results. I just didn't want you to worry and figured that would be easier than us trying to talk about it." My voice drops lower. "And I needed to be sure before anything happened."

"Were you worried?"

"No," I tell her truthfully. "But I wouldn't put you at risk like that."

"Thank you," she breathes, then inexplicably huffs and shakes her head in distaste. "By the way, whatever cologne you're wearing…"

"Mm-hmm?" I smile and run a hand down her hair.

"I hate it."

I laugh heartily, then squeeze her once with an affectionate groan. "You would."

She lifts her head and studies me. "You weren't wearing it earlier."

I clear my throat. "Yeah…"

"Oh my God!" she shrieks and lets go of me to shove my shoulders. "You were totally gonna go out and find some girl to sleep with, weren't you?"

"I was in the middle of a relationship-phobic panic attack!"

She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms, and I sidle back up to her, resting my hands on her hips.

"If it makes you feel any better, it's only because I really, really like you."

"Oddly enough, that_ doesn't_ make me feel better."

"Hmm," I murmur and tilt my head. "You could stay with me tonight and make sure I remain a newly," I visibly swallow, "committed, good little boy."

"Choking on that word a bit, are we?" she taunts with a smile, and I arch an eyebrow at her.

"A little. Yeah."

She bites her lip. "I'm not asking you for a commitment."

"Thank Christ," I say dramatically in relief. "Then you won't mind if I go to a bar so I can go get laid."

"Damon!"

"Gotcha," I wink, then soothingly run my palms down her arms as she scowls at me. I weave my fingers into hers, and her eyes narrow as the corner of her lips turns up. She's the queen of hates-that-she-loves-it and it's so much fun. "Stay with me?" I ask and bat my eyelashes, and she bites her lip.

"I shouldn't…"

"Says who?"

"Says _me_. You were a total jerk to me tonight and that doesn't equal magically getting everything you want."

"Alright," I say and let her hands go so I can hold up mine in surrender, then I lightly cup her cheeks, kissing her softly.

And even though I try to keep it as chaste as possible, Elena still melts into me and her hands settle on my hips, tugging me closer.

I abruptly wrench us apart when my zipper pulls down a little more, encouraged by my hardening cock. "Don't get me all riled up, woman," I tell her, kissing her quickly once more before I let her go.

Just to see what she'll do, I flop down on my bed, propping a hand behind my head and picking up the remote with the other, and she throws a hand up in exasperation before walking out the front door.

Alright then.

I wasn't necessarily expecting _that_, but I'm gonna hold out hope for a minute before I go after her because I don't think she'd just blow out the door that way unless she was coming back. If she doesn't return, Plan B it will be. I turn on the TV and rearrange myself in my jeans, and the front door opens again, Elena closing it behind her and locking the deadbolt. I fist pump with the remote in my hand, not even trying to rein in my smug grin when she sets down her purse and keys on the kitchen counter.

"You're a horrible influence," she mutters, kicking off her shoes by the door.

"You're the one that has no resistance to peer pressure. While you're up, grab me a beer," I test and she picks up her shoe and throws it at me. "I was joking!" I laugh and she points at me warningly.

"We're not getting drunk tonight," she declares as she makes her way towards my closet, and my cheeks practically hurt from smiling as I watch her peel off her cardigan. I must look like such an idiot right now, but I don't give a fuck.

She's staying.

She opens the closet door, and something warm spreads through my chest as she hangs up her sweater between my shirts. Placed distinctly by the white button downs, of course, because it has to be in the right color order or the world would come to an end.

Crazy fucking adorable.

"And getting me to stay here is the extent of the peer pressure you're exacting on me," she says assertively. "So don't get any ideas."

"_You_ don't get any ideas," I tease. "You are not painting my nails or braiding my hair."

She winks at me over her shoulder. "We'll see about that."

* * *

**A/N: Alright, how we doing? That was some flip floppin' we done there, and *STANDS UP AND APPLAUDS for all who correctly guessed what was in that piece of paper ;)* And keep those reviews a comin'! And don't forget to fave and follow! Because we're gonna spend some time in that apartment over the next COUPLE of chapters. So hang in there with me :)**

**Now, if you REALLY want to read some amazing stuff, head over to _In Time We Trust_ by my fabulous, amazing, astounding bestie/beta, Trogdor19, because she just did something in her story that I've NEVER seen before, EVER, and it will blow your minds! And I'm not talking about Elena whispering to a butterfly, folks, I'm talking like HOLY SHIT THAT IS WORLD CHANGING IN A SEASON 5 RE-WRITE. READ READ READ. And review. Because she deserves it for having the heart and soul of an angel.**

**See you next chapter!**

**-Goldnox**


	17. What We Wear

**A/N: Good morning! First off, THANK EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU (YOU TOO, GUEST REVIEWERS, BECAUSE A LOT OF THIS WAS YOU) FOR GETTING US TO 1000 REVIEWS! I literally screamed last night when that happened, just so so honored. Now, to be honest, I was going to be a super super meany goldnox and post a joke chapter today for April Fool's, but I am deciding against it because you guys are so amazing. Instead, we are having SURPRISE DOUBLE UPDATE DAY! WHOOOOOOO!**

**As no surprise, all my crazy glittery love to my beta, Trogdor19, who is the queen of cool and the wielder of the great and powerful machete, which has hacked more chapters than I want to think about, including this one, but it always comes out for the best. Wish all haircuts worked like that ;)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 17: What We Wear**

Elena grabs a t-shirt off a hanger and makes her way into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her, while I'm left fantasizing about exactly what is underneath that dress on the other side of that closed door and the woman is just _cruel_ to do this to me.

"Um, Damon?" she asks hesitatingly from inside the bathroom, and the corner of my lips perks up.

"Um, Elena?"

"If I ask you for a favor, do you promise not to make me regret it?"

I snort. "Sure thing."

The door opens and she pokes her head out. "I think my zipper is stuck."

I crack my knuckles with a smug grin. "My specialty."

She rolls her eyes at me as I get up from the bed, walking over to her and twirling my finger in the motion to turn around. She opens the door just a little more and shows me her back, her hair swept to the side, and I think my heart stalled.

"See?"

All _I _see are the tips of her fingers as she reaches behind her to grab the zipper on her dress. But it's centered just beneath her shoulder blades and after about twenty seconds of fumbling for it she gives up with a frustrated huff.

"Killing me," I sing-song quietly, then slowly start to unzip her dress.

I pause when I see the pink clasp of her strapless bra, and she quietly warns, "Don't even think about it."

I roll my eyes and continue easing the zipper all the way down until I'm rewarded with the top of bubblegum-pink, lace boyshorts. So her panties match her toenail polish? I'm gonna have to pay closer attention to that in the future.

I lightly snap the band and she jumps with a giggle, turning back around with her hand on the door and her other holding up her dress.

"I swear," she sighs, a smile fighting to break free. "You really are twelve, aren't you?"

"Whatever you say," I mumble, and she laughs a little before shutting the door with me on the wrong damn side.

I blow out a breath and run a hand through my hair. Then it's stretching out my arms and rolling out my neck and my body is humming with energy and I wonder if I could convince her to go to the gym with me right now, because if we stay locked in here I may make some very bad decisions and forget that she's not the kind of girl I can talk into stripping down into nothing. Not that I want to attempt the reach on my powers of persuasion. If her clothes come off, I want it to be her call.

The bathroom door opens and I balk when I see the t-shirt she's wearing. It's clean, but that's what I wear when I'm working on my _car_ and just, no.

"What?" she asks, crossing her arms self-consciously, and I smile.

"You're covered in oil stains," I explain and point at the largest area of improperly colored fabric.

She looks down and scratches at the black mark with a laugh. "Whoops."

"Yeah, take that off," I tell her, going over to my closet.

"Uh-huh, real smooth." She comes to stand next to me, and while she's hanging up her dress next to my blue button downs, I sneak a peek down at her legs.

The hem of the shirt is barely covering her hips because the bottom is a little shredded, and _oh yeah_.

Skin.

So. Much. Skin.

And it is _perfect._

"Stop gawking," she laughs and pivots to head back to the bathroom with a different shirt, and I grab the fabric at her waist and tug her back into me.

She bites her lip against a smile when I gradually back her into the wall with my hips alone, my mouth faintly brushing against hers. "I love seeing you wear my clothes," I say huskily, and she looks down with a blush.

And because I apparently have no concept of impulse control, I tilt her chin back up so I can kiss her fully. It's mind-dissolving, the pressure just enough that I can congratulate myself for staying in check before her mouth parts at the same time as mine does, and I lazily slide my tongue against hers.

I moan at my first taste of peppermint, one of my hands desperately gripping the shirt over her hip while my other palm flattens against the wall behind her. She lifts up on her toes a bit and nips at my upper lip, and when it pulls a growl from the lowest part of my throat I feel her mouth curve into a smile.

I graze my lips over hers and linger in place, and I know she's waiting for more, and fuck if I don't want to give it to her, but instead I pull away completely and her eyes open in surprise.

"Go change, before I don't let you," I tease and she breathes a silent laugh.

I back up, giving her enough space to slide past me, but I haven't let go of her shirt by the time she takes her first step and when the fabric pulls up over her hip, my eyes pop.

I whistle abruptly and she flinches, peering back at me. "You have to let go, Damon," she informs me with a grin, and I raise my free hand, beckoning her with a curl of my finger.

"Gilbert, you have some serious explaining to do."

She slowly starts to make her way over to me. "Do me a favor?" she asks softly and I nod. "You can call me anything you want, just not that."

My brow furrows as I settle my hands on her hips, my thumbs rubbing soothing circles over her. "Okay," I agree quietly, and I can actually feel her relax. "Now," I say lightly and squeeze her once, "how did I_ know_ you had a tattoo that you were hiding from me?" I grin mischievously and she blushes, tucking her hair behind her ears.

I slip my hand under the hem of her shirt, running the back of my knuckles over her hip.

"May I?" I ask quietly, and she nods.

I kneel down in front of her so I have a clear view, sliding her shirt up just enough that I can see the entirety of what I'd only glimpsed before. But when I actually see it, I forget to keep ahold of the hem and her shirt falls back down. I swallow and push it back up, but pause when I sense her take a deep breath. Her fingers by her side open, the extra shirt dropping and to my disbelief, without a word she crosses her arms over her waist and gradually pulls the t-shirt she's wearing up and off, letting it join the other one on the floor.

I keep my eyes locked on hers and smile at her comfortingly, wishing I had the words to tell her what her trust means to me and that I won't take more than she's ready to give. And after a moment, when her gaze is relaxed and sweet, only then do I look back to her tattoo and very gently, I begin to stroke my fingertips over the image that is filling the space inside of her left hip. And the skin is smooth of course, but somehow, I can _feel_ it; way down deep, in the darkest place inside of me.

The single black raven is the size of my palm, and he's falling: his mouth open in a silent caw towards the heavens with his talons facing the same way, his back set for a landing with the invisible ground below. His far wing is stretching up like it's reaching for help, but the other is broken and bent downwards.

I tilt my head when I see that his feathers are molting, and the tip of one that's been separated is peeking out from behind her contrastingly cheerful underwear.

I glance up at her and she nods her yes, and carefully I slide down the corner of the pink lace so that she's still covered where it matters, holding the fabric in place with my other thumb. But it's more than enough for me to see two dying feathers floating down and away before they transform into a handful of black tears, splashing onto the beginning of her thigh.

"Jesus, honey," I mumble, caressing the entire scene from the tip of one reaching wing to the very last teardrop.

This is death, grief, torture, unbearable heartache. And it's beautiful: the quality and technique exquisite, the shading some of the best I've ever seen and it must have taken hours upon hours with the level of detail that is in every line, every single aspect. I'm admittedly not thrilled at the idea of another person seeing this much of her body and focusing on it for an extended period of time, and I can hardly believe that she would let someone tattoo her somewhere so intimate, but really I'm just absolutely sick to my stomach with wondering what inspired this in the first place. No one marks themselves in this way without a reason.

I dip my head and kiss a single black tear, then delicately slide the pink lace back in place.

I clear my throat, and I can't quite bring myself to look at her eyes. "Must've hurt."

"You have no idea," she whispers and I hug my arms around her waist, laying my cheek to the raven. Her hand cups the back of my neck as she holds me to her, and I know she's promising that she's fine, but I'm not sure I believe that. "Surprised you don't have a tattoo," she says a little lighter, "bad boy that you are."

"Behind my left shoulder blade," I reply and her fingertips trail down my back before tracing the parallel black lines, roughly a quarter-inch thick and not any longer than the distance between two knuckles. They're not obvious, and they probably seem plain and boring to anyone who notices, except for maybe to Elena because she knows why they're there. But still, they're just two identical bars over my heart, but on my back. Where I don't have to see them.

"They're beautiful," she tells me and I scoff.

"You know what's beautiful?" I say and lean back. "These _ridiculous_ abs you're rocking." I whistle appreciatively and playfully pat her stomach, and when she laughs her defined muscles flex with the movement. "Damn girl, this is what you get from yoga?"

"Yep," she nods proudly, and then holds up her hands and flexes her muscles like she's Popeye or something. "And not eating meat _or_ drinking my weight in beer."

"Crazy," I mutter.

"You're jealous, aren't you?" she taunts me, and I grunt. "Oh, stop it. Not only is your body giving a complex to every male model in existence, you have those angles, the ones _right here_," she says and lays the base of her hands against her hips.

I stage whisper, "I was born with those."

"Oh whatever," she laughs. "You know," she says and settles her hands on my shoulders, "I haven't worked out in forever and I was gonna make some time tomorrow…"

I wrinkle my nose. "Maybe. If you swear not to tell anyone that you got me to impersonate a pretzel."

She bounces on her toes a little. "Yes! And I'm only gonna tell Klaus."

"Can't, he left the country," I smirk and she arches an eyebrow at me.

"Is that right?"

"Yep," I nod. "And he took Elijah and Kol and Mason with him."

"Ha! Now I know you're lying, because you saw Mason last night."

"They left this morning," I lie and she laughs quietly, cupping my jaw and leaning down to kiss me.

I groan when she pulls away too soon, batting her eyelashes at me with a dramatic doe-eyed pout. "Can I go get dressed now?" she asks, and I shake my head no.

"I'm not done with my inspection," I tell her seriously and she rolls her eyes.

"And what, pray tell, needs inspecting now?"

I grin wickedly, hungrily looking over the svelte and scantily-dressed body of my girl standing before me: nothing but smooth tan skin packaged in a pink little strapless bra and matching lace boyshorts, and I flare my eyes. "Looks like someone had a piercing," I tell her and poke her belly button.

"Yeah, when I was sixteen," Elena laughs.

"Whatever you say," I smile. "Anything _else_ pierced?" The pad of my thumb rubs a circle over the front of her panties, and she bats my hand away.

"Not down there," she says and I cock an eyebrow, resettling my hand on her hip. "I had my eyebrow pierced, but I took that out my freshman year in college. And then there was my nose…"

"You did the little diamond stud, didn't you?" I grin and she nods. "_Fuck_, that's cute."

"But that's been gone for maybe three…four years now."

"Put it back," I pout and she shakes her head. "Fine. Be like that." I tilt my head and when the corner of my mouth turns up deviously, she crosses her arms.

"What?"

"I'm sensing a mystery piercing…"

She delicately clears her throat and scratches the tip of her nose. "You can't freak out."

Oh fuck yeah. "Why would I freak out?"

"Because," she says, her hands finding rest on my shoulders again and lightly massaging me and it feels freaking fantastic. "You're a guy, and guys always freak out about this." I glance down at her panties again and she sighs, hooking a fingertip under my chin and tilting my face back up to her. "Are you gonna be good?"

"I'm always good," I counter with a smirk, and she rolls her eyes at me.

She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders. "My tongue is pierced."

"Liar!" I laugh. "I would've felt it. And I definitely would've seen it at some point."

She shakes her head smugly. "I wear a clear plug when we're at work, and I didn't have anything in last night. Or today, because again, guys go _nuts_ when they find out."

"For good reason," I chuckle and flare my eyes. "And what, may I ask, does Daddy have to say about all these sinful holes in his daughter?"

"Yeah," she drawls and bites her lip. "He doesn't know…"

"You naughty little thing," I growl, and she lightly shoves my shoulder. I smile as I tighten my arms around her waist before tilting my head at her. "Aren't tongue rings supposed to be really bad for your teeth?"

She shrugs casually. "The barbells are, so I don't wear them all the time. Plus, I now have an issue with oral fixation which is why I'm always eating peppermints."

I groan and drop my forehead to her stomach. "You can't say things like that to me…"

She laughs and pulls away, walking towards the kitchen and believe me, it is one hell of a view, but I'd much rather have the up close and personal version.

"What are you doing?" I whine as she starts digging in her purse, taking out a small plastic bag and shaking it at me.

"Pick a color."

"Options?" I say and get up, going to lay back down on my bed with my feet still on the floor, rearranging my cock in my pants. _Again._

"Green, blue, black, pink, purple and orange."

"Pink. Matches the outfit," I tease and see her move towards the bathroom out of my peripheral vision.

My eyebrow quirks when the sink starts to run, shutting off a moment later and when she comes back out, I sit up eagerly, every part of me at full attention. She sticks her tongue out at me playfully and my eyes pop at the sight of a metal barbell in her tongue; a pink, star shaped gem in the center of it.

"Holy shit," I breathe with a grin, and she narrows her eyes as she stops back in front of me.

"See? All crazy."

"I demand a demonstration of this nefarious contraption," I tell her evenly, and her little hands cradle my jaw.

"Is that right?" she whispers and I nod slowly, smoothing my hands up her sides as she leans down to me.

She nips at me before she presses her mouth to mine, gently guiding my lips to part and breathing for us both, waiting until the anticipation is killing me before very gradually, she dips her tongue inside my mouth. She laughs softly when I moan at the stark coolness of the metal ball, my grip on her tightening when she begins to twist and twirl it, confidently drawing it across me with every smooth stroke and purposefully heightening each sensation so I'm completely at her mercy and I can't imagine any other place I'd rather be.

I startle when I feel her thigh slide against the outside of mine through my jeans, and I scoot back on the bed so she has room to lower herself down, her other knee finding my comforter. My hands fall to her ass and I tug her closer, and I love the feel of her weight as she straddles my lap, the silky glide of her bra against my bare chest as she presses herself into me.

I'm still learning her and she kisses like no one else, like she's starved for it but a little timid too, and she can never seem to decide if she should make herself stop or just say screw it and kiss me deeper. She's pure instinct, only about what feels good and what she needs right this instant and it's not just a box to hastily cross off on the foreplay checklist. This is the main event for her and as she sighs into my mouth and rolls her hips, completely reveling in it, I'm totally lost in that damn barbell she's taunting me with. And it's not exactly my first experience with a tongue piercing, but with Elena? It sure fucking feels like it.

Because suddenly her mouth leaves mine to trail its way down my jaw, finding the spot on my neck that makes my brain short circuit before she flicks that tongue ring over the lobe of my ear and oh yeah, I'm moaning like fucking crazy.

"Elena," I pant, my hands drifting all over her waist and hips and back because I can't touch enough of her, "unless you're reconsidering what base you want us to be on, you can't do that to me…"

"Do this?" she breathes, teasing me with a kiss of metal again before she lightly bites my shoulder and I growl, left with no choice but to roll us so she's under me, hitching her leg higher around my waist and gripping every silky inch of her thigh. I thrust against her before I can stop myself and she whimpers, her nails digging into my back and her whole body rolling against me and my dick is aching, straining against the zipper that is steadily coming undone.

My mouth is secured to hers as I reach down to try to button my jeans before she gets an inspection of her own that she didn't sign up for, and my muscles lock when one of her little hands covers mine, stopping me.

I pull back to look at her and she's breathing shakily, her eyes half-lidded and chest heaving like she's already been gorgeously fucked and she lifts up a little, just enough to kiss me once before she scoots back further on the bed.

"Come here," she whispers and I prowl my way up and over her body, her hands cradling my jaw as I bend to kiss her.

* * *

**A/N: STOP! I know I know, things are getting heated and I'm making you pause, but I really want to hear what you guys thought about this chapter :) So by all means, read ahead because I know you wanna ;) and then please please, come back and drop me a note on this chapter about all that is above. Love you all! ON TO THE NEXT ONE! **

**-Goldnox**


	18. Answers In Silence

**A/N: **

**Today is a double update day so if you didn't just read about some inked body art and such, hit back one chapter :)**

**(Thanks for beta'ing, Trogger, and *whispers to readers* Please be 18)**

**And without further ado...**

* * *

**Chapter 18: Answers In Silence**

I shift us so she's on her side, sliding an arm under her neck and holding her into me, and she hooks her leg over my waist, drawing me closer. I brush my knuckles in a line between her hips, and I'm just opening my mouth to tell her that we don't have to do this if she's not ready when once more, her hand covers mine. Her breathing picks up even further as she leans her forehead against mine before very tentatively, she guides my fingers inside the top of her panties, sliding my palm down until I'm cupping her.

My arm under her neck pulls her a little closer and she sucks in a breath as my fingertips cautiously explore, my cock hardening further when I find how deliciously wet she is. Her whole body is trembling and she's a symphony of gasps and whimpers as I circle her entrance with the tip of my middle finger, but her pleading whispers cut off into a string of white silence when my finger dips inside of her.

I moan deeply at how wonderfully silky and warm she is, but she's also shockingly tight and it makes me want to roar with possessiveness and promise that I'll be gentle, but I don't know how to say that to her. The only thing I can think to do, that I want to do, is kiss her soothingly as I stroke slowly into her, feeling her adjust to me. And when I curl my finger and her head falls back, her body straining against me and legs parting wider, it feels like she heard me. Like she's vowing her trust in return.

She bites her lip and fully enraptured, I watch her as I make another pass against her front wall, and then one more before I find it and her body jerks, her hands gripping me tightly as she contracts and her shout is suddenly ripping through the room. My fingertip coaxes her to ride it out with measured circles, craving every pulse of her that I can bring into existence. And when I finally let her orgasm wane she gasps and pants, running a hand through her hair before she wrenches my mouth back to hers.

Her hand claws at my lower back as she rolls against me, riding the finger I still have buried inside of her because I can't let her go. Not now, not yet.

"I need you," she whispers against my lips, and I smile.

"Need you first," I whisper back, and she shakes her head in a daze. "If we're going to do this, we're going to do it right."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she pants, and I kiss her hungrily.

The truth is, even with one climax down she's still way too tight for me right now, and I won't dare risk hurting her. She's going to have to get a little more relaxed before we take that last step, and it's the best excuse to take my time and enjoy every part of her. Because if that weren't the case, I'm not sure I'd be able to wait.

I pull out of her and flatten my hand between her hips, easing her onto her back before faintly stroking a fingertip under the band of her panties. "I'm going to take these off," I tell her quietly and she bites her lip, but still nods. I smile and lift a kiss from her lips, then begin to draw the pink lace down her long legs. And she lifts up a bit to help me, but after I fling them off the end of the bed I glance back at her and she looks so nervous, a warm flush rising from her bra covered breasts into her cheeks.

I make sure she sees that I'm looking into her eyes and nowhere else, cupping her cheek in my palm as I bend down to her, teasing my tongue across the crease of her lips. She surges to life when that mystery switch flips on, forgetting everything about being exposed before me and instead is one hundred percent concerned with how tightly she can wrap her legs around me and just like that, we're fine.

When I'm confident that she's comfortable again, I let my hand drift and I begin to feel every inch of her: how soft she is from delicate ankle to creamy thigh, caressing her hip and smoothing my palm over the raven that cries for her, but I leave her bra on because it's slow steps with my girl and I won't rush her. But I still need to taste her skin, so I worship every inch between her neck and shoulder, trailing my tongue back down her collarbone until I find the hollow that has haunted me.

It's better than I imagined.

Though that only makes me need the rest of her even more because it feels like I've been waiting years for this, and I begin to kiss my way down her chest. But her breathing picks up the lower I go, so I slow down and tell myself that I'll never have her again, to capitalize on every single second that she's mine and I would have done that anyways, but it helps a little in getting me under control. Thankfully, by the time I reach her hips she's arching under me, her hands on my shoulders subtly pushing me down to where she wants me and it's the cue that I've been impatient for, the one that says she's ready.

She sucks in a breath when I hook an arm under her knee, squirming even more as I begin to kiss the inside of her thigh. And I listen for her voice, waiting and waiting for any command to stop, but none comes. Thank fucking God.

I slip a finger into her and her back arches almost clear off the bed, and just because I can't help it, I teasingly pet the spot I found and she curses, her hands leaving my skin to tangle in her own hair.

Oh, honey.

I smile wickedly and lift the pad of my finger away from her front wall, and she blows out a breath like she can't decide if she's frustrated or relieved. I clue her in when I gradually give her another finger to stretch her more, and she squeezes me while brazenly rolling her hips. Yeah, that's what I thought.

Honestly, the only thing I care about is making her feel good and if she wants it, I'm more than happy to give it to her. As if I would deny her anything. So I gladly curl my fingers again and blow a stream of air across her clit and she comes hard and fast, and I'm more addicted to her than ever.

My fingers continue stroking smoothly into her without giving her time to settle, my hand gripping her hip to hold her in place because she squeaks and jumps like I expected she would when I flick my tongue over her clit, tasting her for the first time and that's when my primary reason for existence completely changes.

Because it's slow and luscious and hazy as I start to search and touch and try to define her, but I can't figure out what the words are for this or if the ones I need even exist, and I don't even know what words _are_ anymore. I'm completely sunk in the knowledge that my mouth is on her body, her clit between my lips and her taste on my tongue and I can feel all of her, enjoy all of her, openly given with no restraint as she holds me to her, begging me not to stop.

I'll never stop.

I'll live my life between her legs with my name on her lips, and I'll do whatever has to be done, whatever she wants me to do, to make sure it stays there. Because what was cautious has now become desperate, primal and dirty and I suck and flick and stroke faster and harder and before I know it I'm biting her clit and she's loving it and she's so close, fuck, _I'm_ close, and it's too much and not enough and it's my hand gripping her thigh too tight and her nails digging into my scalp and I wrench her closer as she thrusts her hips into me and then she's screaming and coming and I want it, I want it all.

And it's almost impossible to stop because I don't want it to end, but I can tell when she can't take much more and I make myself tighten the leash on my restraint, running my tongue over her tenderly to sooth the place where my teeth were and bringing her gently down. And when breath and light have a place in the universe again I have already finished my languid ascent back up her body, my cheek resting over her pounding heart as she strokes her hands over my back, her legs wrapped around my waist and holding me to her.

"You win," she says breathily after a minute. "You totally have a doctorate."

I chuckle lightly and pull her legs tighter around me. "You're barely through orientation, babe. Hang in there."

"Oh God," she moans dramatically, shaking her head. "I can't come any more."

I lift my head and grin smugly. "I'll take that bet. Ten pickles says otherwise."

"Oh, you are so on," she giggles, then works her arms underneath mine to grip my shoulders from behind, pulling me up over her so she's fully under me.

I brace my weight on my elbows as I look down at her, brushing her hair back from her face before kissing her languidly. Her moans rumble down my throat and her grip on my back tightens, her sexy little foot rubbing the back of my calf.

"Why are you still dressed?" she mumbles, one of her hands sliding around my side to sneak down my stomach, and I flinch at her nails accidentally tickling my abs.

"Priorities," I reply quietly and she smiles against my lips, slipping her fingers into the waist of my jeans and pushing my zipper the rest of the way down. I pull back so I can watch her eyes as her fingers wrap around me, and just before mine roll back, I see hers widen.

"You really weren't kidding," she whispers with a grin, and slowly, I shake my head. "Lucky me," she breathes and I can't help but to chuckle, but it melts into a moan when she begins to stroke me.

I drop my forehead to her neck, trying to keep my shit together because that feels incredible and she's had me with a near-constant erection for like 24 hours and I haven't had sex in forever and my stamina has to be totally fucked because _Elena _is stroking my cock. Good fucking God just thinking that has me groaning and thrusting my dick in her hands.

Sweet and gracious woman that she is, she nudges my jeans the rest of the way off with her wondrous powers and I know from the cool air flirting with my skin that somehow I am naked, and I want inside of her. Now. I drop my hips and yank them back when I brush against her and realize I'm not wearing a condom, and that is the cruelest sort of cruel.

"Not yet," she whispers and then I'm on my back, Elena's hair draped over my shoulder and pooling on my chest and when I run my hands over her spine, I'm a little confused because when did she take her bra off?

I forget that bras exist when she kisses my nipple and flicks her tongue over it, and _Christ, _that barbell…

I admit it, I'm praying for it, and I feel a little guilty but I still want it and—

Sweet mother of God she has her lips around the head of my cock and her fingers wrapped around my shaft, and she's stroking me with that tongue ring as she takes me deeper and I don't know what the hell is happening but I know that I don't want it to stop because there are no damn words for how good this feels.

There are sounds coming from my mouth that I don't want to pay attention to because I've never made them before and they're almost embarrassing, and I realize one of my hands is desperately gripping the pillow above me and the other is brushing her hair back from her face so I can see her and she's so beautiful, she's the sexiest thing I've ever seen and _holy fuck_ does she know how to use that tongue ring.

"Elena," I grit out and she moans, squeezing me tighter at the base of my shaft and I don't know why I'm trying to stop her.

She hums again as she takes me deeper and my hand tangles in her hair, my eyes fluttering closed with my head thrown back and my teeth gritted and she feels so fucking good.

Dammit, it's too good…

"Elena," I plead, but she ignores me and continues stroking me with her tongue and teasing me with that damn barbell and I can taste her on my lips and when I look down at her my body jerks and_ oh shit_. "Fuck!" I burst out as searing heat surges through my cock and pumps out of me, and I'm faintly aware of a hand on my hip, holding me in place as she drinks me down because I can't stop coming.

It finally ceases but Elena doesn't, if anything it just spurs her on more and I fucking love her for it because I have to be inside of her and I'm nowhere near done and yeah, that still feels just stupid incredible and I'm going to buy her as many barbells as she wants in every color of the rainbow and with whatever shapes and designs she wants on them because she needs to wear her tongue ring, like, all the time. But just around me. And definitely when we're in bed.

I breathe a smile when I realize how absurdly lucky I am, because she's not once.

She's mine.

And the thought chokes my throat closed because it's just…it's so _good._

"Hey," I whisper around a moan, and she makes one more long pass before she leaves a kiss on my tip that will live in my memory for the rest of my days before she peeks up at me. "Come here," I tell her and she blushes, prowling her way back up my body.

I sit up when she straddles my hips and I shiver when I brush against her, but I need to take just a second to do this first. Her smile is wide and eyes are calm when I cradle her cheek in my hand, leaning my forehead to hers and holding her other palm against my chest, over my heart. I swallow tightly and I wish I was braver, that I could explain what's happening in my chest right now, but she always sees through me and this seems to be no different because she bites her lip before quietly breathing, "Really?"

"Oh yeah," I tell her strongly, rewrapping my other arm around her shoulders so I can kiss her as passionately as I need to, making sure she feels it, knows it.

That everything about this, us, is different.

But as soon as I'm sure she knows what I'm saying, I'm reaching for my bedside drawer.

"Damon?" she says timidly, and my head whips towards her. Her brow is furrowed and a boulder sinks in my stomach.

No, no no _no_. She can't do this to me.

I shake my head and keep my voice low and steady. "You don't-"

"Oh no! I still want to," she assures me with a smile. "I just…"

"Just what?" I ask and cup her cheeks in my hands.

She touches her forehead to mine, covering my hands with hers. "Just us."

I balk, then try to hide it with a smirk. "I wasn't getting a toy, babe, just a condom. Unless you _want_ a toy, although we'd have to go out to get one and I'm not really looking for us to leave this bed anytime in the next _month_, but if that's what you want I'm sure we can find a store open somewhere in this city…"

She huffs a laugh. "Not tonight."

"Okay," I nod and reach back for the drawer, and she stops my hand again. I swallow nervously, and she gently turns my face back to hers.

"You don't ever…"

"Never," I say seriously.

"Okay," she says softly. "I'm not worried, but I want you to be comfortable and it's your decision."

I blow out a breath and look at the mark on the inside of her arm. "Sure we're okay?"

"We're great," she smiles. "For three years. And this is more effective than anything you're going to pull out of your drawer of debauchery."

I laugh lightly and study her eyes, and she's so relaxed. I mean, there's excitement and anticipation and she's still firmly in the Craving Sex setting of her personality, but she doesn't look like she's hiding anything. Because it's _Elena_, I remind myself. Honest and sweet and pure. She'd never lie to me, I know she's not the kind of woman that traps men and I don't have to ask to know that she's clean and…

Fuck it. I trust her.

I fist pump, and she giggles adorably before she hugs her arms around my neck, kissing me hungrily.

"Slowly," I whisper over her lips and she nods, lifting up. I support her weight as best as I can while trying to get her focused on my hands and mouth and everything at once because this is gonna be one hell of a tight fit.

She gasps when I quickly slip two fingers into her and stretch her just a little bit more, stroking myself once with her silk. I rock my hips up and her head falls back with a moan when the tip of my cock slides against her, and I'm so glad that I came once already because there's no way I would ever last more than two seconds since we're doing this without anything between us.

"Kiss me," I breathe and she does, her parted mouth grazing against mine as she carefully lowers herself, and I feel her stretch around me. My heart stutters and eyes flutter and she sucks in a breath and I lift her up, then slowly bring her back down and she slips around me more smoothly. "Better?" I whisper unsteadily and she nods, her tongue running across my bottom lip. And gradually, she sinks all the way down until I'm buried inside of her and my whole body is _shaking_.

I'm so fucking screwed. Sensitive doesn't begin to cover it and I can feel everything in a way I never have before and in one night, she's ruined me. I'll never be able to go back to a world of latex after this, not when she feels this good.

Three years, she said that thing in her arm is good for three years and thank Christ for medical technological advancements and for OBGYNs and for skin against skin and for fights about negative STD tests and for a girlfriend that apparently hates condoms and I have to remind myself that if I tell her I love her right now she'd never believe me and God, she's so _warm_.

"You're shaking," she whispers as she cradles my jaw, lifting a kiss from my lips. She rocks her hips once, and my eyes roll back with a moan. "Different?"

"Better," I breathe, opening my eyes enough to see her smiling at me and I hold her tighter. "So much better."

"Yeah," she agrees and presses her mouth back to mine, gasping into me as she begins to start a rhythm that fits mine seamlessly. And it shouldn't surprise me when that happens, because she fits into my hands, my life, with an assured click like it's all so plainly obvious, and it just works.

It's her arms pulling closer when I crave her skin against mine, and when I need to taste her, she arches and leans back as I trail kisses across her body. She'll come back and take control, riding hard and fast until she drapes her head over my shoulder, my hands and arms holding her protectively as I thrust up into her.

It's a flawless balance of give and take, and as intense as it is, somehow I still need more.

I roll us so she's under me, hooking an arm under her knee and when I plunge my hips deeper, it's a whole new color of beautiful. And she knows, because the harder I drive the louder she gets and the higher that knee comes until her calf is propped against my shoulder, and I'm feeling the whole long line of her leg as her hands cling to my back and shoulders, growls rumbling out of my throat and vibrating into hers as I surge forward and thrust again. Until she tells me exactly what she wants, and it's like she read my fucking mind.

I pull out and sit back, gently turning her over and she flips gracefully, rising to her knees before she pushes back against me. I smooth my hands up her entire back as I bend to kiss her spine, goosebumps racing up her skin as she rubs her ass against me. One extended moment, taking the time to wrap my arm around her and hug her body sweetly before I lean back and settle my hands on her hips, and then I slam into her, her head whipping back with an eager shout and restraint, reason, everything is just gone. My strokes are long but ruthlessly quick and she's grasping at pillows and practically screaming between begging for more and I don't deny her. Everything that I have to pleasure her with, it's all hers.

Her walls start to flutter and squeeze me but I want to see her, so I slide my hands under her and gently lean her back against my chest so her head is resting on my shoulder. Her back is completely bowed with her knees on the outside of mine, and she's beautifully on display for me when she reaches behind her and threads her fingers through my hair. I watch over her shoulder as my hands cup her breasts and tease her hardened nipples, my palms running down the soft lines of her stomach as her muscles flex with each roll of our still connected bodies, petting her thighs greedily and everywhere else I want to feel her and the whole time listening as her moans intensify with every thrust I give her.

One of my hands slides until I carefully begin to circle her clit, and she gasps and flinches and I know she's sensitive, but I need to feel her come for me again. And she whimpers when I whisper it to her, but her free hand covers mine and my fingers slip between hers, and at her pace, we begin to touch her together.

And I don't know if it's the way her silky fingertip nudges me here and there, sliding me against this spot and circling another, or maybe it's just that she's showing me what feels best to her with no inhibition, but regardless it's driving me crazy in the best way and I know it's doing immeasurable things to her. Because when our joined fingers tease her clit and I thrust deeply without warning, she climaxes fiercely, gorgeously, and as I revel in each throb of her pleasure, I can't hold my own off any longer.

I leave her clit to lock my arms around her: grasping her shoulder so she's secured against me and my other palm covering her raven because whatever that pain is, she will never hurt like that again. I let loose with every instinct I have to be faster, stronger, to protect and to claim her and I'm drunk on the fact that my scent will take root deep inside of her and she welcomes it all, urging me on with promises that she wants me and I grit my teeth through my shout as I explode inside of her. I clutch her to me as I give myself in a way I've never done before, trusting her with the most basic, primitive part of me and she takes every fear and uncertainty and makes it disappear as if it never existed, caressing my skin comfortingly as she covers my arms with hers.

For a long time, we don't move. I can't. And I don't want to. In reality it's probably not that long at all, but every breath is labored, every kiss I press into her skin is special. And when we do start to calm we're both careful, more tender than I've ever been with anyone before. It's a gentle moment to feel each other, to _know_ and let it sink into the space that becomes truth.

Slowly, I lower us down and lay beside her, checking over her skin with light grazes of my fingertips where I'm worried I held her too hard, but she only smiles and lazily kisses me, reassuring me that she's fine. I snuggle her into my chest because even though I followed her lead, I'm still not sure if this was too soon for her and I won't ever regret it, but I'm a little worried that she will. And she totally busts me. Like fucking _always_.

More kisses and teasing whispers that I should look a lot happier for a guy that just got laid, and she shrieks and giggles when I tickle her, telling her she's got a long way to go before her tab is paid in full. I finally let her catch her breath and she rolls onto her stomach with her chin propped in her hand, confessing that even though she knows it's an environmental monstrosity, she can't help but to swoon over my car. And she "may" have had a dream or two about us having sex in it, but she's not willing to specify the details. Only that it was the stuff of legends. I laugh smugly at the first part but bite the inside of my lip at the last, and then she crawls on top of me, telling me the dreams didn't begin to compare to the real thing and for such a cocky guy, I'm a little insecure.

More tickling, more kissing, more laughter and more everything that I love about this woman.

She somehow resists giving me too much shit when I suddenly realize like an hour later that we're talking while still on top of the comforter and I don't want her to get cold, so I very ungracefully tug and yank and bitch at the black fabric until I finally give up and stand, pulling back the blanket and sheets so she can slide underneath them. Which I should have just done in the fucking first place because all the lights, and the TV, were still on. I shut everything off and double check the deadbolt on the front door before I crawl in bed beside her and she comes right to me, kissing me happily before she rolls over and burrows down, my body curled protectively around hers.

I kiss the back of her neck and hug her closer, already starting to fall asleep to the rhythm of her steady breaths. And I'm not sure why I do it, but maybe it's because everything is about as perfect as I could ever imagine it being and I fully believe that I could ask her anything, tell her anything, and it would be fine. And that's probably a product of being blissed out on endorphins after having crazy fucking fantastic sex with the only women I've ever loved. Who knows, maybe it's because I'm beyond exhausted and that's all it is. But whatever the reason, I'm barely awake when I say her name.

"Hmm?" she murmurs and I yawn, nuzzling deeper into her.

"The blond guy in the photo," I whisper, my words slurring and fading off into the dark space that's filling the rest of my apartment, and I'm so tired that I almost forget to finish. "Tell me you don't still love him…"

And I don't remember hearing her response because I think I fell asleep before she said anything, but I still got an answer anyways.

Because when I wake up a few hours later, she's gone.

* * *

**A/N: **

***Goldnox walks on stage, microphone in hand, clears throat***

***Goldnox winces at all the confusion on the faces of her beloved readers, their feels fighting btwn sexy times and then devastation from me pulling the rug out from under them with no warning***

***Goldnox opens her mouth to speak, then slowly starts to smile***

***Goldnox drops mic and walks away...***

**SEE YOU NEXT CHAPTER! *BLOWS TONS AND TONS OF KISSES***

**-Goldnox (the meanest bitch of all time)**


	19. The Pitch

**A/N: Seriously? 1200 reviews? *shakes head* I am in pure awe. But honestly, I am so thankful because I really really needed that extra love this week and you guys kept me going. So how do I repay that? I give you the other thing y'all have been patiently-screaming about since chapter 1. A certain character's back story. *whistles innocently* Enjoy!**

**Trogdor19, life coach to the drunk and disorderly, the sender of fancy smells for no reason ****other ****than it's Thursday, conqueror of the almighty comma, where would I be without you? Oh, I know, babbling about the right comma placement in a dialogue tag between two different characters to a hobo on sixth street who smells better than I do while I interject my sentences with complaints that my Milagro margarita on the rocks (no salt) is empty again. God bless unlimited texting. And your face. AND NO MORE BURNT THUMBS *grumbles* goopy mouse...**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 19: The Pitch**

Hypocrisy is a bitch.

Bed 'em and bolt. I've been doing it forever and didn't think twice about it because my leaving them afterwards wasn't anything for them to be crying about, and if it was, they had no business getting in bed with me in the first place. But when I'm the one that wakes up confused because the other half of my bed is empty and it wasn't that way when I last closed my eyes, yeah, that stings.

I don't know what's worse: the fact that she left, or that she did it while I was asleep. What's ruining me is the idea that she crept around while she got her clothes out of the closet and her purse from the kitchen, probably wincing as she unlocked the front door and praying it wouldn't wake me.

I wonder if she looked back. I never do.

Christ, I feel so stupid. That "all or nothing" girl just strummed me like a damn ukulele. She wanted to play hard to get? Fine, I was down for the chase. But once you catch that uncatchable girl, she's supposed to stick around, especially since she was the one that initially was all about making this _not_ a one-time thing. Instead, I was left with the faint aroma of her perfume clinging to my sheets while I laid there alone, wondering exactly what made her change her mind.

Survey says it's the blond mystery guy she's not telling me about, but unfortunately, that's not my only option. It could be that she decided I wasn't worth the hassle, that the ends didn't justify the means. Talk about a nuclear-powered blow to my ego. Perhaps Little Miss Sweet and Innocent relishes in the power from wrapping the perpetually-single, self-proclaimed bad boys around her finger before she spends one night enjoying the talents wrought by their promiscuous lifestyle, and then she cuts them loose.

But I don't want to think those things. I desperately want to believe that it was something pointless that sent her running. Maybe Caroline called her with a girl emergency, or Elena forgot that she had something to do first thing in the morning and went to take care of it. It could be as simple as that.

But it still doesn't explain that picture. Or why she looks at it every single day when he's nowhere to be found.

She acts single, but that doesn't mean shit nowadays. You hear about it all the time: guys are deployed in the military and while they're off being G.I. Joe, their girls back home are spending their nights with other men. It would explain a lot. But I don't think she's the kind of person that would betray someone like that. Could be that he just left her, which means she's still holding out hope while waiting for him to come back. But who walks away from Elena? Yeah, that theory is looking thinner and thinner.

And if I wasn't such a proud and stubborn dumbass I could have an answer to all these questions, but I don't. Because I spent all of Sunday flipping between hurt and confused and pissed the hell off, and I wasn't going to chase her down. Except that it took me until four o'clock to realize that it was completely useless to keep glancing at my phone, because she doesn't have my number. I don't have hers either, but I have Caroline's and she has mine and if Elena wanted to reach me, it wouldn't be hard. She also could have shown up and apologized, but there was no knock, no bursting in with a tear-filled excuse. Just nothing.

So now I'm sitting in the parking lot at work, and even though I got here bright and early at 8:45 A.M. on a perfectly despicable Monday morning, it is now three after nine because I am a pussy and apparently cemented in my car from wondering what the fuck is going to happen when I reach my desk. How I'm going to look at her in a gray pencil skirt and not see my hands caressing the tops of her thighs as she arches back against me, how I'm going to listen to her take calls and not hear her voice whispering my name, begging me to never stop kissing her.

Yeah, I don't know how to do any of this shit anymore.

I head inside and nod my head at a few people, tossing a casual high-five to Trevor that I almost miss because the only thing that is filling the space in my mind is the emptiness of her chair.

I sit in my own and log in, then turn to face Ric, who is tilting his head at me with a look that's fifty percent smug and the other half concerned. Guy needs meds for being as hormonal as all the chicks we work with. I wonder if he gets cramps when they all go on their period at the same time, too.

"What's up your skirt, Princess? Date not go well?"

"Went fine," I tell him, catching the baseball he throws at me and then tossing it right back.

"Then where's your girl? She's never this late…"

"That's what I would like to know," I mumble, and he pitches me the ball. And I'm not sure why, but as soon as my hand clasps the white leather and red laces, something clicks. Because she's never late. _Never_. Except for that one time a few weeks ago when I made that stupid joke about cancer, and she…

I glance down at the ball in my palm.

Nope. Uh-uh. No way. She's fine. She's the healthiest person I've ever known and I would've noticed…something.

Right?

I groan and lean forward, my forehead leaning against the baseball fisted in my hand.

She may seem fine, but that doesn't mean dick. People get sick and then they get better, and then they get sick again. Suddenly it's all too clear in black and white and my hand clenches the ball until I can feel the leather trying to give way, but I don't let go. He bailed the moment she got the bad news.

Well I am not that prick. I don't abandon people that I care about.

But she doesn't know that. What she knows is that I tried to break up with her after my mom made some random comment that sent me barreling towards the door.

I curse and grit my teeth, kicking my desk.

"Hey, man. You alright?" Ric asks, and I don't answer because he won't understand.

Goddammit, it was right in front of me. That beautiful and broken, wilting raven.

"What's going on?" he asks seriously and I sigh and lean back in my chair, chucking the ball at him.

"I'll let you know as soon as I find out."

His brow furrows and I turn away, picking up my headset and looking at my Auto In button.

It's 9:13, and I've got ten hours and forty-seven minutes of eighty-six calls spaced four point two seconds apart until I'm free to confront my AWOL maybe-girlfriend about whether or not she was recently diagnosed with cancer.

After that, it's anyone's guess what I'm gonna get thrown next.

* * *

I raise my hand to knock on the front door, but pause at the voices that are arguing inside the apartment. I couldn't get through the day fast enough, drive here fast enough. Time feels…dangerous.

"_You know that was probably his car that just pulled up," _Caroline says, sounding more than frustrated.

"_Well you can tell him that I'm not here."_

"_Elena, you can't keep running from this! Damon deserves to know the truth."_

"_Don't tell me what he deserves!" _Elena yells and my eyes widen._ "You have no idea who he really is!"_

"_You're right," _Caroline snaps and I blow out a breath, leaning back against the railing. _"He didn't want me to know him and that's fine, but at least I never lied to him." _

Wow. Could this be any more fucked up?

The girls are quiet for a moment and I push off the railing, just raising my hand again to knock when Caroline says gently,_ "Maybe it'll be okay."_

"_None of this is okay!"_

"_Well you can't fix anything if you won't talk to him! And either you do it, Elena, or I will."_

"_Caroline, please…"_ I hear Elena plead brokenly_. "He'll never forgive me for keeping this from him."_

I shake my head and rap my knuckles on the door, and no one says anything for the longest two seconds. Ever.

"_You don't know that, Elena. But I guess you're about to find out."_

The front door swings open, Caroline swallowing thickly before she brushes past me, heading down the stairs. My eyes close and I brace myself.

I already know the truth, and I can face this shit like a man because that's what she needs me to do.

"What are you doing here?" Elena says softly and my eyes fly open.

She looks absolutely exhausted and she's definitely been crying, but other than that, she looks like her. I give her half a smile, casually propping myself against the open doorframe. I'm not really sure I could stand straight right now from the relief flowing through me, even though she's making a face like she has no idea why I'm not yelling at her. I could probably laugh at the whole thing, except that I'm still a little pissed that she couldn't just talk to me or _not_ sneak out of my bed, but I just…I don't know why I expected her to look different.

I clear my throat and cross one ankle over the other. "You know what happens when a guy like me goes into a hookah bar for open mic night, but_ without_ his hippie date?"

She flinches, her brow furrowing. "No…"

"Yeah," I drawl. "Me either."

She sniffles and glances down, and I wait a second, my voice dropping.

"You don't call, don't write…"

"It's not as if I have your phone number, Damon," she snaps like that's my fault, and it is. But it's hers too, something I will happily remind her of once she's not on the verge of slamming the door in my face for no reason.

"We should probably fix that," I tell her lightly, but that just makes her eyes water before she turns away, heading deeper inside the apartment.

I follow her inside, gently shutting the door behind me. If she doesn't want to tell _me_ what is going on with her, I'm sure she doesn't want the rest of world hearing the conversation we're about to have. Although I'm not sure if closing the door even matters because the walls in this complex seem to be made out of tissue paper.

I stop by the corner table with the lamp on it that reminds me of one in my mom's house, and Elena is the standard four feet away and not even facing me, not really. Her shoulders and hips are pointed in my direction, but her gaze is everywhere except for the space I'm occupying.

"So," I start and see her shift her weight, "back to me being here. You missed work today."

She tucks her hair behind her ear, and I don't want to say this. God, please don't make me say this.

I say it anyways.

"You sick?"

Her head whips up and her gaze narrows. "I don't have to explain myself to you."

Everything in my body twists and shrinks and aches as my mind stutters and takes off. It's true, it's fucking_ true_ and there's nothing I can do about it and I want to tell her that it'll all be fine and maybe it will be but maybe it won't and I'd fix it if I could but I can't and she probably needs me right now but she's pushing me away, because this is _Elena_, the same girl who has been determined to show me that she's strong and brave and can take care of herself and I get that she doesn't want to be pitied or for me to look at her differently, but she's hurting and she has to be terrified and I need to know that she's fine.

That we're going to be fine.

"You're right, you don't have to tell me anything," I grant her and her bottom lip quivers, because as soon as she's done showing me that she doesn't need me, she always crumbles and then falls right into me. "But maybe I forgot to mention that I'm kind of an 'old school' guy and believe in common courtesy and gentlemanly disclosure and all that jazz. Feel free to hate my mother for that." I smile, but she doesn't return it.

Instead, she sucks in a breath and whips around, hanging her head as her shoulders shake. And everything in me is reaching for her, to wrap my arms around her body and hide her in my chest where she fits and she's safe, but my hands won't do any good because the poison is inside of her where I can't reach it.

I still step forward until her back barely grazes my chest, and feeling her breathe, it makes it a little better.

"Putting us aside for the moment," I say very quietly, "I'd like to know what's going on with you."

"What do you mean?" she murmurs.

"I mean the thing that you're not telling me. Because I'm pretty sure I know what it is, but I'd rather hear it from you."

She turns around to face me, her chin lifted defiantly even though she's crying, and I wince and cup her cheeks in my hands, brushing away her tears with my thumbs.

"Okay," I whisper, and her eyes squeeze closed as more tears fall. "I'm going to say this first, and then we can go from there." She nods slightly and I lean my forehead to hers, my voice dropping lower. "It doesn't change anything, Elena. And there's nothing you can say or do to convince me that pushing me away is the right thing, for either of us." I swallow and press a kiss into her forehead. "You don't have to be alone."

Her arms wrap around my neck, squeezing me tight as a single sob wrenches out of her, and I hold her steadily as all of my worst nightmares come true.

Christ, she doesn't deserve this.

I kiss her temple and run a hand down her hair, my voice too shaky for my liking when I ask, "How bad is it, and _what_ is it?" But instead of hearing her rattle off a medical diagnosis that I'm probably not going to understand anyway, I feel her shake her head and my brow furrows. "You don't know?" I lean back and try to smile teasingly, the pads of my fingertips brushing away her tears. "Or you just won't tell me?"

"What are you talking about?" she says, exasperated, and I shrug. "Damon, what exactly do you think is going on here?"

I bite the inside of my lip and tilt my head at her. "You're…_sick,_ Elena," I say as gently as possible but I still sound like a dick. "Cancer or something…"

"Damon," she breathes and places her hands on my chest, but instead of gripping my shirt like she usually does, she lightly pushes me back and when I automatically loosen my grip on her, she pulls away completely. My head follows her as she walks to the other side of the living room, her back to me and arms hugged around herself. "You thought…and you were still…"

I watch her warily as she mumbles to herself before I take a hesitant step forward. "Elena?"

She peeks at me over her shoulder before she scrubs the heel of her hand over her eyes, then faces me completely. "I don't have cancer."

I flinch. "Say that again…"

"I'm not sick," she says and sniffles, and I huff out a breath in relief.

She's fine. She's healthy and perfect and she's not going to die and she's right here and everything is going to be okay.

"Jesus Christ, Elena," I burst out with a laugh. "You scared the shit out of me."

"What on earth gave you that idea in the first place?" she asks and I throw a hand up.

"Fuck if I know, but maybe it's because you freaked out when I said the 'C' word a few weeks ago and possibly because of the tattoo taking up the entire left side of your hip. Because that thing is sexy as hell, but, sweetheart? That is so not normal."

She squares her shoulders and suddenly looks crazy pissed off, and when I arch an eyebrow at her, her whole face falls and she's all upset again and I have no idea what the hell is going on and why we're not having sex right now if she's not knocking on death's door.

"Elena," I say apologetically and take a step towards her, and she backs up.

Wow. Okay, if that didn't feel like she just blasted my sternum with a sledgehammer…

I look at her more closely, and my logic decides to start functioning again. She's not fine, we're not fine. She left me, and I still have no idea why.

I cross my arms and narrow my eyes. "Feel free to fill me in on reality any time here."

"Damon," she starts and I already know this is bad. This is bad bad bad and I don't want any part of it. "I'm sorry, but I can't do this."

My hands twitch, a whole new kind of hurt slicing through me.

She's fucking joking, right? This from the girl that told me to figure out what I want because she was done with the games, and now I'm going to get the "It's not you, it's me. But mostly it's just…you."

Mother fucking hypocrisy, it'll get you every time.

"Do what, Elena?" I ask quietly, and she bites her lip. "Date me? Sleep with me? Little late for that." She covers her face with her hands like she's ashamed, and I scoff and shake my head. "You even going to give me a reason, or am I just supposed to fill in the blanks on my own?"

She doesn't respond and she doesn't pull her hands away, and this is bullshit. She doesn't get to hide from this.

"You wanted me to fight for you, so I did," I say harshly, and she finally drops her hands by her sides, squaring her shoulders. "And I'm still here, despite the fact that you walked out on me. And now you won't even tell me why you're blowing me off?"

She slowly shakes her head no and rippling anger, blinding jealousy, burns through me.

"Who's the guy, Elena?" I grit out, and she backs up, shaking her head.

"Damon, please…" she whispers, and I ignore her.

"Not that his identity really matters," I say sarcastically, my next words biting sharp. "Because whoever he is, _he's _not here."

She bursts into tears and I look away. I can't fucking handle it when she cries.

I stalk off to the kitchen and grab a paper towel, taking it back to her and waiting as she wipes at her eyes, trying to calm myself down. The last thing I need is her eavesdropping neighbors calling the cops on me again.

"Who is he, Elena?" I ask again, more evenly, and her mouth twists down in guilt.

"He's my husband."

I blink twice and shake my head and I still don't think I heard that right. "You know," I chuckle darkly, "I've heard some shit before, hell I've said some shit before, but this…"

"You think I'm lying?" she gasps and I throw my hands up before turning around, scrubbing one over my face.

"I don't know what to believe from you anymore," I say quietly, then turn back to look at her and she doesn't quite look the same. "One minute you want to be together, the next you can't be with me. You tell me that you care about me, and then you tell me that you're _married?_ Do you realize you just said that you're cheating on your husband with me?"

"I'm not cheating!" she shrieks. "I wouldn't do that…"

"Then what the fuck is going on?"

"I…" she starts, her eyes welling up again, and I flare mine at her impatiently. "I'm not married anymore."

I blow out a breath, my whole body shaking. "You're either married, or you aren't," I say severely. "Which is it, Elena?"

"It's complicated."

"Well you have about three seconds to _un_complicate this before I'm-"

"He's dead," she says flatly, and everything just stops.

It feels like all the color is draining from my body and seeping into the carpet through my boots and I can see every trace of gold in Elena's eyes but the rest of her is blurry and I faintly register the sound of the AC kicking on and people bickering next door about the brand of paper towels he bought and Elena's mouth is moving, but I can't make out the words.

My hands clench into fists by my sides but I can barely feel my fingers.

That damn raven.

It's not her.

It's _him_.

"Damon?" she says questioningly and I focus on her.

I never should have pursued her. She never wanted to be with me but I wouldn't stop pushing and _God,_ she's another man's _wife _and I kissed her, touched her, I…

I want to throw up.

She sniffles and nods like she understands that I have no idea where to begin dealing with this.

"Matt and I grew up together," she tells me, saying his name like it's her own while pure affection seeps from her voice and I lock my jaw closed because something jagged is gouging its way through my chest, and it goddamn _hurts_. "I knew him my whole life, loved him my whole life," she says quietly. "We were going to open a clinic together when we graduated. It was always our plan, to help people."

The clinic she never opened. Which is why she's working a job that she's massively overqualified for and why our lives collided and…Jesus Christ, he's the one that taught her to kickbox. She said she hadn't done it since college.

I swallow tightly and she shifts her weight. "And we were so young," she sighs, "we were only twenty when we got married, but we didn't want to wait anymore and in the big scheme of things, it just didn't seem to matter."

I'm sure it didn't. Not when they'd been together their "whole lives" and planned to be for the rest of them. Because those were the vows she made.

I cross my arms and press my fists harder against my ribs, and I wish so much that I could hate him, this man that found her first. But I can't. I just _can't_ and I hate that even more because I already know that if Elena loved him and he was smart enough to marry her, then he's so much better than I am.

He _was_ better than I will ever be.

I clear my throat, and she skips forward to the end. I guess for my sake.

"Everything was fine until one day he just didn't feel well, and then…" She trails off and a tear slips out, far from the first she's ever cried for him and I know it won't be the last, whether I'm here to see them or not. "By the time they diagnosed him, it was too late. And we tried chemo and everything there was, but…" She takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders and I almost reach for her, but I don't. "A year after we married, I buried him."

I close my eyes and shake my head, because there's nothing I can say. Twenty-one years old, and she was a widow. She should've spent her twenties having fun and traveling and starting her dream or suddenly deciding that she didn't like people that much and she wanted to train polar bears or anything, anything but this. Six years of mourning the love of her life, and three of those were spent four feet away from me while I hit on her at least twice a day.

I'm not familiar with shame, and it's unsettling in the worst way.

"And you've been alone ever since," I finish quietly, and she nods.

"That's why Caroline lives here. Although, she is kinda stuck with me." I shake my head in confusion, and Elena sucks in a breath. "Do you not know her last name?"

My brow furrows, and then it clicks. Because no, I don't know Caroline's last name but I can see the resemblance between her and the guy in the picture, and this just keeps getting worse.

"Tell me she's not his sister," I grit out, and Elena's mouth pulls down in remorse.

"Why didn't you know her last name?" she breathes, full of disappointment like fucking always and I cock an eyebrow right back at her in blatant disdain.

"Why do I have the feeling that I don't know _yours_?"

She hangs her head and wipes at her eyes. Yeah, no fucking wonder she spazzed when I called her Gilbert. Who wants their boyfriend calling them by their husband's last name?

"Here, I'll start," I say mockingly. "My name is Damon Salvatore, and you are…"

"It's Donovan," she whispers. "My maiden name was Donovan."

"Well that's just great, Elena," I say dryly and she winces. "You been lying about anything else that I should know about?"

She glances up at me and when I look pointedly at the mark on her arm of her supposed birth control implant, she balks.

"Damon, I wouldn't do that to you…"

"You think I trust you now?" I snap. "You get me to fall for you, and then you pull the rug out from under me with some bullshit about a dead husband that you're still in love with!"

Her hands cover her mouth and I don't know what part of that is making her eyes widen in alarm, but it doesn't really matter.

None of it matters anymore.

She's not mine, and she never really was.

I look her over and I can already feel the tear, the crack raw as the split starts and I have to get out of here before it completely breaks apart.

I turn to go and she rushes forward, her hand settling on my arm.

"Fuck, Elena!" I shout as I round on her. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Why _would_ I tell you this?" she says desperately. "One second you're telling me that we're not dating and the next you're telling me that we're in a committed relationship, and I can't keep up. I'm…" She stops and takes a step back from me, and the distance she's putting between us says it all. But apparently it's not enough because her voice drops before she says, "I thought I was ready to move on, but the truth is, I'm not. I'll always love him, and that's not fair to you."

I scoff. "Maybe you should have thought about that before getting in my damn bed, Elena."

"Damon," she pleads, her voice raspy from crying and I hate her saying my name right now. "I'm so sorry. This was my mistake."

"Don't tell me about mistakes," I seethe, stalking forward so she's forced to back up even more until she can't. "A mistake is when your mom gets knocked up by some no name loser and has to figure out how to raise two kids by herself. A _mistake_," I growl, "is when you forget your brother's inhaler at home and he dies on the fifth fairway before the damn ambulance can get there."

"Oh my God…" she squeaks and I raise my chin, peering down my nose at her.

"A mistake is when you take a chance on the girl you like, even though she's been treating you like a piece of shit for the last three years."

"Damon, I'm so sorry," she whispers, and my hands, my jaw, my whole body is shaking.

But even so, I blow out a breath and it's every meaning of tender when I cup her face in my hands because after tonight, I'll never touch her again. And I'll have to spend my days with her sitting four feet away from me, breathing in her perfume as I listen to her voice for endless hours, but it will never be the same.

Because she is someone else's, and always will be.

My voice is low and uneven when I tell her, "A mistake is when she tells you that she lost her husband, and you're in too much shock to tell her how fucking sorry you are, because you know what it feels like to lose someone that you never should've had to live without."

Her hands cover mine as a sob wrenches from between her lips, and I lean my forehead to hers for a single last moment before I pull myself away from her, taking a step back out of her reach.

"But the fact that I was the first person you chose to be with after him?" I say and shake my head. "A 24-year-old kid, broke and with no education and whose whole life is wrapped up in booze and cars and getting laid because he is an immature, sleezy asshole…"

Her eyes close, fresh tears running down her cheeks at the recitation of all the worst things she's ever called me. All the things that are true.

"That's not a mistake, Elena. That's a goddamn tragedy."

I turn and head for the door, barely registering her calling my name as I slam it closed behind me and numbly jog my way down the stairs. Because the only thing I do know is that something inside of me is completely ripped wretchedly in half, and it's never going to fit back together again.

* * *

**A/N: *hugs all of you* So, that probably wasn't that big of a shock since many of you guessed about Matt beforehand, but still, my heart breaks for Damon. Feel free to cheer your love for him or call him a dumbass or rant on Elena or me, whichever you please, in that little comment box below. And don't forget those favorite and follow buttons, my dears! We've got four chapters to go, PLUS an epilogue. Thanks for all the love and support so far, and I will see you next chapter. (When Damon sticks his foot in his mouth. BIG time. But it actually does more good than anything...)**

**-Goldnox**


	20. Things I Hear

**A/N: Goodness gracious me! I cannot, CANNOT, believe the amazing response you guys! Y'all are spoiling me something awful. **

**Now, a lot of you are concerned (rightfully so) about how in the hell we are going to resolve this mess in the short time we have left. Believe me, I get that. Quite a few of you have expressed that no matter the ending, there really isn't any way to resolve this to 100% satisfaction because of the problems the characters are encountering. I understand that too. All I ask, and hope for, is that you trust me a little more and that when all is said and done, you're satisfied with the ending I chose to give them. It may not work for everyone, be enough for everyone, and that's okay. As a writer, you have to be honest with yourself and know that not everyone is gonna love everything. But dammit, I'm gonna try to make that happen ;) So let's get to it, shall we?**

**All my love and devotion to my amazing beta, Trogdor19, who is currently off being adventurous and fabulous while she shows the wild who's the real queen of the land. You are my hero, woman. Come back soon, I miss you!**

* * *

**Chapter 20: Things I Hear**

"Good morning, dickhead," I taunt Ric when I stroll into work at my typical five after nine, falling casually into my seat and logging into my phone before I swivel my chair, facing him.

I am _not_ going to look at her.

Nope. Not gonna.

I take a bite of my bacon, egg and cheese biscuit, and my traitor eyes dart to the right and then back forward.

Son of a bitch.

I'm going to sit here and eat, thinking long and hard about the right calibration between the bass and treble levels in my car stereo. Or maybe just mentally rebuild the entire engine piece by piece, seeing if I can recall every part and the order that I bought them in.

I am _not_ going to focus on the image of her sitting hunched over at her desk, her chin propped in her hand as she stares at the wall beside her, showing me the back of her head. There's no such thing as sunset-pink cardigans and gray pinstripe pants, especially not ones that are pulling up an extra few inches with her legs crossed, showing me a bit of ankle and the faux-reptilian material that her one-inch heels are made out of.

I swallow my food and in my peripheral vision I see Elena uncross her legs and kick off her shoes under her desk, and I turn my chair slightly more away.

"_You can keep your tomatoes…" I smirk, glancing down at her feet and then up at her eyes, my voice dropping huskily. "If you tell me what color toenail polish you're wearing."_

_She gasps with a blush. "I am not telling you that!" _

I don't want to see what color she's wearing today. It's not for me to know.

"Good morning to you too, douche," Ric replies and I smirk, taking a sip of my coffee. "You're chipper for a Tuesday."

"Can't be any worse than Monday," I tell him, and I hear Elena suck in a breath.

"_Come on, three more," I tell her and she sucks in a breath before she gives me all she's got. "Two… Last one…" I tell her and she knocks the ever loving shit out of my hand. _

_I hiss with a grimace, and she gasps and covers her mouth with her glove-covered hands._

"_Oh my gosh, Damon! I'm so sorry, are you okay?" she squeaks, and I can't help but laugh as I pull off the mitts. Even though it's really embarrassing that she actually hurt me. _

"Let me ask you something," I say seriously and Ric jerks his chin at me. "Is the phrase supposed to be 'It's all uphill from here', or is it 'downhill'? I can never get that shit straight because you go up from the bottom, but climbing is harder than coasting down…" I trail off and force a chuckle at myself, and Ric tilts his head at me curiously.

Yeah, that was subtle. I'd probably be doing better at the whole play-it-cool slash unaffected thing if my mind wasn't busy galloping through memories of her. Especially when it comes to a harsh halt on that single, perfect hour I got before I said the words that sent her running while I was thoughtlessly asleep. We were relaxing naked in my bed, blissed out on endorphins and each other, and I should have stayed awake, appreciating every second that I had her for. But I didn't.

_I pillow my head with my hand, turned slightly to look at a smiling Elena beside me. She's stretched out on her stomach, but her knees are bent and feet are swinging lazily, her weight braced on her elbows. She bites her lip with a blush, and I smile._

"_What?" I ask quietly, running a knuckle down her bare back, and she shivers and shrugs._

"_Do you remember when we met?"_

_I rack my brain, but come up blank. I remember the first time she griped at me for being "unprofessional," but I don't recall the first words I ever said to her. _

"_I remember where we met," I try and she laughs softly. _

"_I guess I can't blame you, infant that you were…"_

"_I was twenty-one, perfectly legal for cougar prowling," I joke and she narrows her eyes at me. "And as I recall, you didn't think I was too young when you were fresh out of training and asking me a million questions every day about how to file this or where to transfer that." I wink at her and she glances down timidly, because we both know she desperately relied on my help for a good three months before she got the hang of taking claims, which is actually pretty quick. _

_I roll fully on my side, facing her. Her gaze softens as I reach up and tuck her hair behind her ear, then hook a fingertip under her chin so I can lift a kiss from her lips. _

"_You going to remind me?" I ask, and she shrugs one shoulder. _

"_I guess we didn't really meet, I just saw you."_

"_You remember the first time you saw me?" I tease and she blushes, looking down. _

"_No."_

"_Liar…" I breathe playfully._

_She stays quiet for a moment, and I smooth my palm over her lower back. And that seems to do the trick, because her voice is sweet and almost nostalgic when she tells me, "I was walking back with Maggie to one of the conference rooms…"_

"_Scandalous," I grin and she rolls her eyes. "Please, do continue."_

"_Anyways," she says, "it was my last interview and she was pointing everything out in the building, and you were standing at the end of a row and talking with some guy. It was probably Ric now that I think about it, but I don't remember." She shakes her head, her whole face lit up. "But whoever it was, he said something that made you laugh. And it wasn't that cocky little chuckle you do," she says and I arch an eyebrow at her with a smirk, "I mean you really laughed. And you just looked so…"_

"_What?" I ask when she trails off. _

"_Free," she says affectionately, and my smile grows. "You were so beautiful, and almost…light, in a way. You looked like the world was at your feet and even though I didn't know you, I just couldn't imagine you ever being afraid of anything. It was mesmerizing. I don't know how else to explain it."_

_I tilt my head at her, stroking my fingertips up her spine. "And then what happened?" _

_Her cheeks suddenly blaze. "Nothin'."_

"_Sounds like somethin'."_

"_Damon," she whines, and I chuckle. And apparently in a cocky manner because she points at me and goes, "That one, right there. That's the smug laugh."_

"_Whatever you say," I tell her. "So what happened next when you were checking me out during our first non-meeting?"_

_She chews on the inside of her lip for a minute before she picks at the pillow case, then mumbles something I don't catch. I tickle her side and she squirms, then finally huffs out a breath. "Fine. I was walking by and you looked up, and then you kinda smiled and winked at me."_

"_Nice," I drawl, and she scowls at me. "What? You're pretty," I say smoothly. "It's not like you can blame me."_

"_Yeah right, you were probably looking at Maggie's ass."_

_I clear my throat, then lay fully on my back and study the ceiling. _

_I don't say anything for a minute, just thinking, and her nails begin combing through the hair at my temple. "I was just kidding," she says regretfully, and the corner of my lips turns up. _

"_It was cold that week," I say quietly, and her hand pauses. "You were wearing a red trench coat with big black buttons on the front, and the belt was tied in a bow behind your back." I can still see it, every little detail. "You'd left your coat open, but that was perfectly fine with me because it meant I got a peek of your white button-down blouse, and that high-waisted black pencil skirt you like to torture me with." She laughs softly and I feel myself grin wider, my voice dropping lower. "Your shoes matched your coat. Bright red, crazy high stilettos and I swear you looked like the devil's mistress on Christmas morning. Sexiest thing I've ever seen."_

_Her nails resuming combing through my hair, and I close my eyes peacefully. _

"_You know what's funny…" she murmurs._

"_Hmm?"_

"_I didn't wear that to my last interview."_

_I glance at her, my brow furrowed. I know she wore that outfit. It's crystal clear in my memory and I've been impatiently waiting for the day it reappears, half-worried I'm gonna lose it in my pants the second she shows up in that red coat. But she's never worn it again. _

_She leans down and kisses me soothingly, pulling back with a bright smile. "I wore that to my first."_

Back on Failed Plan: Act Casual, I toss up a chunk of my biscuit like a piece of popcorn, catching it in my mouth.

"Claims reporting, this is Elena…" she says gently and I startle at her voice, a little too soft and borderline choked up, and Ric's eyes widen.

I clear my throat. "Have you seen Jeremy?"

"He's at his desk," Ric tells me and I nod once, quickly eating the rest of my breakfast before balling up the wrapper and pelting him with it.

"Miss me," I taunt and pucker a kiss at him, getting up and heading down the aisle.

But not quick enough to miss the sound of Elena telling her customer, "I will," and I try to stand a little straighter as I walk away from her, making sure my steps are slow and measured and _not_ as hasty as my heartbeat.

It's my only option. I can't take this.

I rap my knuckles on Jeremy's wall and he looks up from his computer, quickly closing a screen that looked suspiciously like his ex's Facebook page. Try working four feet away from her.

"Damon, good morning. What can I do you for?"

"Got a minute?" I ask and he nods, turning in his chair to face me completely. I take the opposite seat and rest my foot on my knee, leaning back nonchalantly. But I realize my fingers are tapping out a spastic beat on the armrests and I stop them, blowing out a breath. "Last time we talked you mentioned there were some options for moving into other departments…"

* * *

Two minutes to eleven. Thank God it's Thursday, but I need it to be about nine hours later.

"Claims reporting, this is Elena. How may I help you?"

And that's why.

I hate my job.

I hate my life.

I. Hate. Everything.

I switch into a break mode and lock my computer, tossing down my headset, and I am just about to get up when I hear Elena say, "Oh! Hi, this is _Elena_ Elena, how are you?" and I pause. "Uh-huh, hold on just a sec…"

I see from the corner of my eye as she looks behind her at Ric, who is currently on a call, and then at me.

"Damon…"

I barely control my flinch. It's the first time she's said my name in three days. Three crazy long fucking days.

"Hmm."

"Jenna's on my line."

My head whips towards her, my brow furrowed. "What do you mean _Jenna_ is on your line?"

"She called in and asked to speak with Ric, said she was his girlfriend but couldn't get through to him on his cell. I think it was just a coincidence she got me…"

"Send her over to me," I tell her and she nods.

"Jenna?" Elena says into her headset, Ric glancing at me worriedly and I hold up a finger for him to wait. "Ric is on a call but I'm going to transfer you to Damon, okay? Alright, you too, bye."

I pick up my headset and put it back on as my phone rings, wincing at the display when I see: Inbound Transfer: Ext 64973, Gilbert, Elena.

"What's cookin', gorgeous?" I tease as I accept the transfer, and I'm instantly bombarded with the sound of a busy highway in the background. My heart slams in my chest as I listen for sirens or any other clue as to what is going on, but I keep my face clear because my best friend is watching me like a hawk while he's stuck asking some guy which fender got torn off from his Mustang.

"_Damon, good God,"_ Jenna sighs, frustrated, but she's not screaming or crying and a massive knot unwinds in my chest. _"Something is wrong with my car which I completely blame you for, and why don't either of you ever answer your cell phones?"_

"Maybe because we're working so we can buy you pretty dresses," I tell her. "What's up with the clanker?"

"_It made this horrible chugging sound like ki-lunk—ki-lank—ka-bump, and then it died. So now I'm stuck out on I-35 in lunch hour traffic while you two play thumb war in an air-conditioned building."_

I snort and look at Ric. "Car died."

He mutes his headset. "Again? I thought you said-"

"I fixed that, you're the one that bought the piece of crap when I told you not to."

"_Here's an idea,"_ Jenna says sarcastically. _"Instead of arm wrestling about whose fault it is, how about one of you come get me so I don't die of heatstroke and exhaust fumes. And yes, before you ask, I already called the tow truck…"_

"Are they taking it home or to a garage?" I ask seriously. Knowing Jenna, she probably told the guy to take it wherever he thought was best which will mean his cousin Roy-Roy's chop shop, and that's just more work for me down the line. "Because if they're taking it to the house, you can just ride with him."

"_If you think I'm letting some stranger drive me home then you can also bet that I'm gonna feed you nothing except steamed rice for the rest of the year." _

"Yes ma'am," I drawl and roll my eyes at Ric. "She needs a pick-me-up."

He glances at his computer and then back at me. "Tell her I'm sorry, but it's gonna be a while because I'm just starting a six car pile-up and this guy talks like Elmer Fudd."

"Jenna," I tell her and she huffs at me. "I'm gonna come get you. Where you at, girl?"

She gives me the mile marker and detailed instructions on what to tell Ric about abandoning her to the harsh Austin summer heat, and I tell her I'll see her soon but that she better look hot. And my pun was not appreciated because she growls and hangs up on me, and I log out of my phone and computer for the day, grabbing my stuff from my desk drawer.

"Yo," I tell Ric and he mutes his headset. "I'm heading out, I'll text you when I get her."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I don't want to be here anymore anyways."

"Thanks man, see you at the house tonight," he says and goes back to his call.

"Damon," Elena says and I look at her.

I hate that she's so goddamn beautiful.

"Can I…" she starts and I arch an eyebrow that cuts her off, and then her face falls. "Is Jenna okay?"

"She's fine."

I get up and head down the aisle, stopping by Jeremy's desk to tell him I've got a family emergency and I'll see him Monday, and he nods at me.

Monday is gonna be…interesting.

* * *

"Thanks again, Damon," Jenna tells me when we head inside the house, and I set down the bag of groceries on the counter, starting to unload them.

"Mm-hmm," I mumble.

Turns out she _did_ tell Bobby's Tow Service to take her car wherever they wanted, so I got to have it out with the redneck when I informed him he was taking the car where _I_ wanted it to go, which was to her house so I can work on it tomorrow. It's not like I won't be here. I can barely stomach my apartment anymore.

"You want some lunch before you head back?"

"Nah, not hungry," I tell her and then I yawn, scrubbing a hand over my face. "Just gonna go home."

"You sure?"

"Yep," I tell her, grabbing the carton of eggs from the bag.

"Funny how I got Elena when I called," Jenna says and I fumble the eggs while setting them on the shelf, damn near dropping them.

"Fancy that."

Jenna clears her throat and I roll my eyes, moving all of her ten billion cups of yogurt to the door so they're not taking up the entire bottom shelf. "You guys break up?"

"Yep," I tell her and go to grab the milk off the counter, finding her leaning against the sink with her arms crossed and looking more upset than she should. "What?"

"Nothing," she says innocently, and I lock my jaw closed, shutting the refrigerator a little too harshly after I put away the milk and the juice. I pile up the dry goods in my arm and walk them over to the pantry. "Can you get her back?" she asks quietly, and I shake my head.

"Isn't my call."

She stays quiet as I put away the rest of the food, finally closing the last cabinet and facing her. Her arms are still crossed, her mouth twisted to the side like she's concerned about something and I know that look.

"Thanks for the help with the groceries," she tells me with a soft smile, and I arch an eyebrow at her.

I help around the house all the time. It's only fair since I'm always here, and me doing shit has never been anything attention worthy. Except when I've slacked a bit in the past and she basically gave me a list of chores.

"What is it, Jenna?"

She sighs, tilting her head at me. "When was the last time you slept?" she asks me gently and I look away, and then I shrug. "Okay, well I'm gonna go water the garden, the guest room is made up."

I glance at her and she smiles, pushing off from the counter. She lightly lays her hand on my shoulder as she walks past me, and I stay still, listening to the back door close.

I need to go home. I _should_ go back to work. I blow out a breath and run a hand through my hair. I turn and head to the guest bedroom.

I close the door and set the stuff in my pockets on the nightstand, then kick off my shoes and lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Like I've been doing all week. I haven't gone anywhere, really done anything, unless you count going to the gym on Wednesday but that sucked. She's everywhere I go, because I can't get her out of my head. So I figured I may as well be at my apartment where I should be comfortable.

But truthfully, I think I've been waiting, possibly hoping, for a knock on my front door. It's probably why I haven't been able to sleep, but I should know better. She was the one that said she didn't want this, so it's not like she's going to come looking for me anymore.

I turn my head and glance at the alarm clock, my vision snagging on the pile consisting of my car keys and cell phone; lingering on the roll of Lifesaver peppermints that I've been inexplicably carrying, but haven't been able to bring myself to open. I sigh and turn over and hug the pillow, closing my eyes and breathing deep the smell of lavender fabric softener. No vanilla, no blackberries. Just lavender.

I need to let it go.

* * *

"_Stop,"_ I hear Ric say quietly from the living room, and my eyes open groggily.

It's dark in the guest bedroom, and when I look at the alarm clock, it's almost midnight. Holy shit.

"_I just want to check on him, make sure he's okay…" _

"_Jenna, he's fine,"_ Ric sighs. "_He's a big boy and if he gets hungry, he'll get up. Just leave him be."_

"_I just haven't seen him like this since he got Mono two years ago. You remember that?"_

"_How could I forget?" _he says with a chuckle._ "He did nothing but sleep for six weeks and when he did get up, he was silent. Best time of my life."_

"_Ric,"_ Jenna scolds. _"This isn't funny. He's really upset."_

"_I know, babe,"_ Ric tells her sincerely.

"_Did he tell you what happened? When I asked, all he said was that it wasn't his call."_

Ric clears his throat and my brow furrows. _"He hasn't told me anything, but I've got a pretty good idea of what split them up."_

"_Well?"_ she asks when he doesn't continue, and I listen closer.

"_I'm not really supposed to know this, she kinda let it slip one morning when she and I were talking…"_ He pauses and I grit my teeth. _"She was married before, a long time ago, and her husband died."_

"_Oh my God,"_ Jenna says and fury burns through me. _"That's horrible…"_

"_I know,"_ he agrees.

"_So you think he left her because of it?"_

"_I don't know,"_ he tells her. _"I mean, it can't be easy for the guy, to know something like that. But if he told you it wasn't his decision, then she must've pulled out when it got too serious."_

"_Was it that serious?"_ Jenna asks, and I squeeze my eyes shut.

"_I think so. She didn't show up to work on Monday, and Tuesday when he came in he was trying to act like he was fine, but he was sorta all over the place and she was really upset. They sit right next to each other, and they're not talking, at all."_ Ric clears his throat again. _"He talked to Jeremy for a while Tuesday morning, and then he was in meetings almost all day Wednesday. I think he's applying for another job so he can get away from her."_

"_But Damon never backs down like that," _Jenna says, shocked, and Ric gently shushes her._ "It's always someone else's problem if they don't like him…"_

"_Mm-hmm."_

"_He must be heartbroken…" _Jenna says worriedly, and I wince.

"_He'll be okay, just give him some time."_

I get up and scrub a hand over my face, straightening out my shirt although it's pointless because it's completely wrinkled.

I head into the living room and find Ric and Jenna snuggled in his recliner, and Jenna sits up like a shot.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," Ric smirks at me, not even bothering to react to my glare.

"Damon, you hungry? I can warm you up some dinner…"

"Thanks, Jenna," I tell her, and she smiles as she wiggles down and heads into the kitchen.

I take my seat on the couch and blow out a breath, but my temper is blazing. Ric cocks an eyebrow at me, and I shake my head. "You're a piece of shit," I snap at him and his eyes flare.

"Sounds like you need a longer nap."

"Sounds like you need to insulate your damn walls," I growl, and he balks. "You knew. You knew and you didn't tell me. Some fucking friend you are."

"Damon…"

"Ric, first you told me to stay away from her because you thought I wasn't good enough. If you had the balls to tell me that, you could've added, 'By the way, don't get hung up on this one because she's already taken.'"

"I never said you weren't good enough for her," Ric says strongly, and I scoff. "I told you to stay away because I didn't want you to get burned by something you have no control over, and it wasn't my place to tell you."

"Bullshit. And I did get burned, because you fucking kept it from me."

"This isn't my fault," he tells me and I narrow my eyes at him. "If you can't deal with the fact that she was married, that has nothing to do with me."

"Who said I'm the one with the problem?"

"Then what happened?"

"She's never going to love anyone else!" I yell, and Ric grimaces.

"You don't know that," he says quietly. "She could just need time…"

I lean forward, hardening by gaze. "How much time? It's been six years." He sighs at me and I tilt my head at him. "Say something happens to Jenna. How long before you can love someone else? A year, five, ten?"

"Don't fucking say that shit," he snaps and I cock an eyebrow at him.

"Yeah, you don't want me to say it because you know the truth. It will _never_ be enough time, and even if she did decide she was ready, I'll always know that if she had a choice between him and me, she would choose him."

"So you _do _have an issue with it, it's not just her."

"I wasn't given a chance to figure out how I feel about it, because she broke up with me in the same breath that she fucking told me."

"Look, Damon. I know you're pissed about this, but I wasn't trying to sabotage your relationship. I just figured it was between you and her, and it was better if I stayed out of it."

"If you thought it was better to stay out of it, then you should have done that from the beginning."

He rolls his eyes at me and my hands clench into fists.

"You know what? Fuck you," I bite off and get up from the couch.

"What are you doing, Damon?" Ric drawls, and I round on him.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I shout. "The woman you love is right there, right fucking there and guess what? You're never going to find anyone better than her, and she's always going to choose you first. And what are you doing about it? Nothing."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Ric yells, getting up from his recliner and standing toe to toe with me.

"I mean we bought that ring months ago, and you're fucking sitting on it!"

"Dude!" he hisses and looks towards the kitchen, and when my eyes follow his, they pop.

Because yep, Jenna is now standing in the doorway and her eyes are wide, her hands covering her mouth.

"You asshole," Ric growls at me, then takes a hesitant step toward Jenna. "Babe," he starts soothingly. "Let me explain…"

"Is that true?" she whispers, and I wince.

"Jenna-"

She cuts me off with a warning finger, and I cross my arms, hanging my head.

"Honey, listen to me," he says as he stops in front of her. "I was only waiting because I was going to propose to you on Columbus Day."

Fucking hell, I feel like even more of a prick, however that's possible. I should have figured he would do that because she loves that damn "holiday" and always dresses up like a pirate. Don't ask me fucking why.

"Really?"

I see out of the corner of my vision as he nods, running his hands down her arms. "Yeah."

"I…" she starts and sniffles. "I _love_ Columbus Day."

He laughs quietly. "I know, baby."

"I'm really sorry, Jenna," I say guiltily, and when they both tell me to shut up without looking at me, I shift my weight.

"Anyway," Ric starts again, then swallows thickly. "I had this whole thing I was gonna say about starting a new journey and we may not end up where we set out to but I know it's gonna be great as long as we're together…and you get the idea."

"_Aww, Ric…"_

"Nice, man," I mumble.

"Thanks," he tells me, his voice all strained, and I don't know why he's getting all nervous like he doesn't know her answer is gonna be yes. The big question is why the fuck I'm still standing here. "So, Jenna…" he says, and blows out a breath. "Will you marry me? Despite the fact that it also means you're stuck with Damon?"

"Of course I will," she tells him sweetly and I turn away so they can have their moment in the kitchen. With me standing in the living room.

Awkward asshole, party of one.

"Hey dickhead," Ric says a minute later. "Maybe you could redeem yourself by-"

"On it," I tell him and pick up the corner of his recliner, grabbing the ring box he's had hidden under there for the last four months. I walk into the kitchen and Jenna is hastily wiping at her eyes, totally beaming, and I should so not be here for this. "Here," I tell Jenna and hold out the ring box to her, and Ric snatches it out of my hand.

"You gonna put the ring on her finger too, dick?" he scowls at me, and I hold my hands up, backing away.

"My bad," I drawl, heading back to the living room and re-taking my spot on the couch.

I try to block out the sound of her gasp and subsequent giggles, their whispered "I love you"s and all the stuff that normally makes me squirm like crazy. But Ric sounds happy, and I'm glad for him.

At least one of us gets to be.

* * *

**A/N: Alright guys, hope you enjoyed! Can't wait to hear your responses below, and I'll see you next chapter! **

**-Goldnox**


	21. Batter Down

**A/N: All my devoted love to my fabulous beta, Trogdor19, who I miss so incredibly much. Please hurry back, girl. I need you more than you know.**

* * *

**Chapter 21: Batter Down**

"Hey, Mom," I say as I walk into the back of the bakery, finding her covered in flour and busily whisking batter.

I decided to do a drive by on my way home from Ric's, curious as to whether a certain Prius would be in the parking lot, but there wasn't one. I cursed and pulled in and parked, and if Elena shows up for her "standing Sunday date" with my mom then I can duck out the back door, but I'm thinking her appearance is probably as likely as me suddenly shrinking three feet.

"Hey, baby," my mom smiles at me, setting down the bowl to stretch up and wrap her arms around my neck, squeezing me tightly. She pulls back and tries to brush the flour off the front of my shirt that smudged off from her apron, but her hands only make it worse.

"Mom, stop," I whine. "It's fine."

"What's a handsome man like you doing here? You want me to make you some sweet potato pie? Ooh! You want a cherry? Sarah got the best cherries from the farmer's market…"

"I'm not hungry."

"Oh," she says and deflates, and I roll my eyes.

I don't know why she always acts like it hurts her feelings when I say that. You'd think she'd be happy that I don't purely see her as a vending machine.

"You need some help?" I ask, and her face lights up in a way that makes me wonder if this was a bad idea.

Can't fucking win with these women.

"I'd love some," she says and goes to grab a spare apron while I wash my hands. "Is Elena with you?" she asks cheerfully when she comes back, peering around the corner to look into the dining area, and I feel my face tighten.

"Actually, I kinda need to talk to you about that."

"Really?" she says, disappointed, and I wince.

"Yeah…what are you making?" I ask and peer into her bowl, which for now is nothing more than a bland mixture of eggs and sugar, possibly vanilla, but my brow furrows at the mixing cups that are set aside. Those slivers of green have no business being mingled with the chocolate chips she also has out.

"Whole wheat zucchini muffins with chocolate chips," she tells me, and I shudder.

"I still don't know who in their right mind eats vegetables in their muffins," I mutter, and my mom lightly nudges me with her elbow.

"I don't see how you can judge people about veggies when you love fruit pies," she says and passes me the bowl so I can take over.

"That's different. Did you already add the-"

"Yep."

"Okay," I nod and grab the wheat flour.

I measure and mix in the two cups that I need, then glance at her and smile, because next to me she's getting started on raspberry cheesecake muffins that I love and she hardly ever makes. Probably because once they're gone I always drive her nuts by bugging her incessantly to make more, which she refuses to do purely out of spite since I never listen to her warnings not to finish a dozen in a day.

What? They're fucking amazing.

"Soda," I say and she hands me the orange box, and after I'm done she takes it back and spoons out what she needs while my mouth gapes. "You put baking soda in those?" I ask, shocked, and she winks and holds her finger up to her lips like she's shushing me.

I chuckle and roll my eyes.

"Baking Powder," she tells me and I reach up and grab the white can off the shelf, measuring out what I need into my mixing bowl before I pass it to her. "That's so rude," she scolds with a laugh.

"Where are my manners?" I drawl sarcastically, then flick a little bit of flour at her.

"Damon!"

"_Mom_," I mock, then go back to mixing the stuff that will never come anywhere near my digestive system.

And I'm just pouring in the grated zucchini when my mom says quietly, "So, are you going to tell me what happened, or am I not allowed to ask?"

"It just didn't work out."

"Seemed like it was working fine when you two were at the house…"

"Yeah, well, things change," I tell her and dump in the chocolate chips. I sneak a peek at my mom while I'm folding them in, and she's got an eyebrow arched disapprovingly. I scoff and shake my head. "You know, this wasn't my fault, _or _my decision_,_ and I'm getting really tired of everyone assuming I'm the bad guy here," I say more harshly than she deserves, and her eyes widen as she crosses her arms.

"And when did I say it was your fault? Because I don't recall those words coming out of my mouth."

"I know what you're thinking," I mumble, starting to spoon out the dough into the oversized muffin pan.

"Is that right?"

"Yeah," I tell her.

And I'm just finishing filling the last cup when she suddenly asks, "Did you add the cinnamon?"

I curse, shoving the pan away and a little bit of dough sloshing over the side, because_ no_, I didn't add the cinnamon because I fucking forgot.

"Hey," she sooths, and I lean forward with my elbows on the counter, my head in my hands. I hear her open the oven and set the timer, and I shake my head.

"Don't bake those, I fucked them up…"

"It's fine, baby," she says far too patiently for me being such an asshole to her, her nails starting to run comfortingly through my hair. "No one will notice and it's good to change a few things now and then."

I scoff, and I hear her sigh.

"What happened with you and Elena?"

"I don't want to talk about it," I mutter.

"You're obviously upset…"

"So what?" I say and she pulls on my arm, making me stand up before she pinches my sleeve and starts leading me towards the back office. "Mom, I really don't-"

"Hush up." She knocks once on the closed door before she opens it. "Jerry, I need the office," she tells my uncle who is sitting at his desk, hunched over a stack of paperwork.

He's been married to my aunt Sarah for over thirty years now, and that has apparently trained him into the response of instantly hopping up from his seat while wearing an expression like he's afraid to do anything else.

"No problem," he tells her, shooting me a look of sympathy before he passes by us. Mom wastes no time nudging me inside the office and closing the door, and I plop down into the extra chair.

"What are you gonna do, ground me?" I smirk sarcastically at her when she takes the opposite seat, glaring at me from behind the desk.

"Do you need to be grounded?" she asks and I roll my eyes. She blows out a breath and I lean back, propping my elbow on the armrest so I can rest my head against my fist. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"You don't have anything to say?" she says, frustrated, and I shift in my seat. "We will sit here all day, Damon…"

"Fine," I grit out. "I screwed up. You happy now?"

"No," she gripes at me. "And how did you screw up?"

"Because, I know you're friends with her and she's probably not going to ever show her face around here again, and that's because of me." I swallow and look down at the buckle on my boot, my voice barely loud enough to reach her when I mumble, "Like I haven't ruined your life enough."

Her hand slaps down on the desk like a crack of thunder and my head whips up. "You listen to me," she snaps, using the voice that somehow makes me feel like she's bigger than I am, although I've been taller than her since I was eleven. "Getting pregnant, at first, was the worst thing that ever happened to me."

"Thanks for proving my point."

"But from that, Damon, I got y_ou _and your brother and I wouldn't change a single thing that led to that. And just because I never married doesn't mean that I didn't get the love of my life. Because that title goes to _you._"

I glance down again, my chest thick and throat strangled.

"You are the best thing that has ever happened to me," she says strongly, her voice breaking. "Do you understand me?"

"Yes," I say quietly.

"Good. Then I don't want to hear you ever say that again."

"Okay," I murmur, and her chair creaks when she leans back in it.

She stays quiet for a minute, and I can see from my peripheral vision as she rests her elbow against the armrest, mirroring my posture. "Baby, what happened?" she asks gently, and I shrug.

"I wasn't good enough."

I don't know if there is anything more humiliating than admitting that. But at the same time, it's not like there's anyone else who I can talk to about how I feel right now. And maybe a selfish, egotistical part of me wants to tell my mom all this depressing, self-deprecating crap because I know she's going to make me feel better, and right now, I'm in vital need of it.

"Did she say that?"

"Didn't have to."

"Well," my mom says, exasperated. Yeah, welcome to my world. "What is it that she wants?"

I sigh and shake my head. "It's complicated."

My eyes dart to my mom and she makes a face that is a silent reiteration of her threat to not let me out of here until I come clean, and I shift in my seat again.

Fuck it.

"She," I start and clear my throat. "She wants someone else. And even though he's gone, and he's not coming back, I'll never measure up."

"Damon…"

"It's the truth," I tell her baldly. "And it's not her fault, so if you _do_ see her, don't be mad at her. She's had it hard enough as it is and she doesn't need you coming down on her."

My mom tilts her head at me, and I flare my eyes in a warning.

"Okay," she agrees softly, and I tap my thumb distractedly against the armrest. "I just don't understand," she says confused.

I scoff. "Really? You're always nagging on me about shit I need to change and do better, and you don't see how this could happen? Makes perfect sense to me," I drawl.

"No, it's not that…"

"Thanks a lot," I tell her and she rolls her eyes.

"Are you perfect? No," she says with a hint of sarcasm. "Some days you get close, but then you open that filthy mouth of yours and _whoop!_ Out the window," she teases and I feel the corner of my lips turn up. "What I don't understand," she says sincerely, "is exactly what she's telling herself and how she convinced you of it too, because what_ I_ saw was a woman that was undoubtedly in love with you."

"And you don't think your opinion on that is a little warped?"

"No," she tells me, offended, and I snort.

"Well, maybe what you saw was her being in love with her _husband_, and it getting accidentally transposed onto me."

"Her _what?"_

"She's widowed," I tell my mom and her face falls, mouth gaping. "And can I just add, this is the most awkward conversation you and I have ever had and the sooner it's over, the better."

"We've had worse, so don't even go there. Besides, tell me how you reacted to hearing that Elena was married before."

I bite the inside of my lip and my mom arches a smug eyebrow at me.

"Mm-hmm."

"She lied to me!"

"Did she now? So I suppose you asked if she had ever been married?"

"This is bullshit," I mutter. "You're supposed to be on my side."

"I thought I wasn't supposed to take sides." She smiles at me and I roll my eyes.

"You can do whatever you want. Just leave me out of your friendship with her, and can I please go home now?"

"Yes, Damon, you're excused," she says like she's indulging me, and I get up and open the door to the office.

I stop in the kitchen to hang up my apron, and when I turn around my mom is standing in front of me and she damn near gave me a heart attack.

"Don't sneak up on me like that," I admonish and try to catch my breath, and she shoves a box of the zucchini and chocolate chip muffins at me. Sarah or Jerry must have pulled them out while we were in the office. "Mom, no offense, but I'm not going to eat those."

"They're not for you," she says. "They're for Elena, these are her favorite. You can give them to her at work tomorrow."

I feel my weight sag. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"Because I love you," she smiles and stretches up to kiss my cheek, then rocks back down. "Now go home, you're a mess and you're going to offend all my customers."

I crack half a smile, then lean down and hug her tightly, letting my head rest on her shoulder for just a minute. "Thanks, Mom," I mumble.

"You'll be okay," she whispers and I nod, my throat clamped closed.

I want to believe her, I really do.

* * *

My strides are long and confident as I head down the aisle of desks. The box of muffins in my hand.

I jerk my chin at Ric as I get closer and he flips me off with half a grin. He's still a little ticked that I tripped him into proposing to Jenna, but we called it square since he didn't tell me about Elena's marriage, and there's no lasting damage done. At least nothing that a bottle of whiskey couldn't fix.

My target is staring at her computer screen, but ten bucks says she's scanning emails she's already read in order to act like I don't exist. Nice try, Elena.

I stop right next to her and rap my knuckles on her desk, and she jumps and looks up at me. Pain and warmth surge through my pounding heart when I see her eyes: nervous and borderline hopeful, but that can't be right.

"Let's go," I tell her and nod my head towards the end of the aisle, and her eyes widen. I don't wait for her to respond, and I ignore the look of shock coming from Ric as I head towards one of the empty conference rooms.

I don't have time to pussyfoot around. I've got six minutes to get this done.

I push open the conference room door and hold it open, and Elena walks inside without a word. And I held my breath as she passed in front of me, but even so I'm drowning in vanilla and blackberries and I want to soak in it. I want to run.

I step inside and shut the door, and she faces me hesitantly.

She's beautiful, like always, but she looks kinda terrible. Her clothes are perfect: pinstripe pants that she suddenly seems to own a dozen pairs of because the pencil skirts have mysteriously disappeared, a standard silk blouse and gem colored cardigan, but there are dark circles under her eyes. Seems like I'm not the only one having trouble sleeping. She's also got her hair pulled back into a ponytail, which looks nice, but she always wears her hair down to work.

She swallows and glances down at her feet, and the fluorescent light above us flickers off the teardrop opal earrings she's wearing and my knees nearly buckle.

She was wearing those that night…

"I'll make this quick," I say bluntly and she lifts her chin a little. "These are from her," I tell Elena and set the box down on the conference table beside us. I take a business card that I snagged from the bakery out of my pocket and turn it over, writing down my mom's home phone and cell number on the back. "She wants you to call her."

"Does she know?" Elena asks quietly, and I peek at her, then nod my head.

"I'm sorry, but I didn't have a choice. I went to see her Sunday at the bakery and she asked where you were."

Elena sucks in a breath and I straighten, putting the pen back in my pocket and leaving the business card on top of the box of muffins.

"She's not mad at anyone, and I'm sure she just wants to tell you that herself. But here's the deal," I say plainly, and Elena hugs her arms around herself. "If you don't want to talk to her or be friends with her anymore, then okay. We both understand that it's awkward. But you need to _tell her_ that and not just disappear." Elena bites her lip and nods, and I clear my throat. "She doesn't deserve to pay for my screw ups."

"Damon," Elena sighs at me, her voice cracking. "You didn't do anything wrong."

"Yeah," I scoff. "Well, the contents of that box say otherwise."

Her brow furrows, and when she peeks into the box, she gasps. "Are these the zucchini with chocolate chips?" she whispers without looking at me, and I cross my arms.

"Leave it to you to like the healthiest shit on the menu." Her head turns towards me, her eyes glistening, and I wince. "I wasn't trying to insult you…"

"You didn't insult me," says quietly, a tear rolling down her cheek, and I shift my weight.

"Please don't cry," I plead quietly, looking away. "This is hard enough and I can't..."

"I'm sorry," she says and sniffles, wiping at her eyes.

"You don't have to apologize," I fumble. "I just-"

"You made these, didn't you?"

My eyes lock on hers, and she tilts her head at me.

I open my mouth to say something, but I don't have anything to offer her that's going to make this any better. I can't bring her husband back for her, I can't erase the pain that's painted on her skin in the form of a dying raven, and I can't put myself back together again _without_ her.

"We have a meeting," I tell her and open the door, striding down the hallway to my desk.

"Everything alright?" Ric asks and I nod, logging into my phone and setting the code for being in training. "Any idea what this meeting is about? We're scheduled for it all day…"

I don't respond, just dropping my car keys and cell phone in my drawer as Elena comes back down the aisle, setting the box of muffins on her desk and sitting in her chair with her back to me. I glance at Ric and a grin is pulling at the corner of his mouth because he obviously noticed the exchange, and I shake my head so he doesn't get the wrong idea that anything has been resolved.

His face falls, and I shrug.

"We ready to go?" I ask them and Ric stands up, Elena delicately clearing her throat and throwing away a napkin that I'm guessing she was using to wipe at her eyes. Great. It's so fucking fantastic that I made her cry first thing on a Monday morning. What a swell guy I am.

I stand and she does the same, and silently, we all walk with the rest of the people from our row and another team from two aisles over, moseying down to one of the largest training rooms in the far end of the building. Everyone else is laughing and joking, trading stories from the weekend and congratulating each other on getting a day off the phones. It makes me feel like the grim reaper.

And I need to snap out of this shit. I need to perk the fuck up and smile and laugh before my attitude becomes an issue.

I sit next to Ric at one of the round tables in the training room, Elena taking the seat on his other side and I don't know why she just did that. She's friends with other people on our team, she could've sat with them. But no. Now I get to sit here and watch out of my peripheral vision as she shoots me questioning looks. Awesome.

I clear my throat and shift in my seat, and Ric glances at me. I cock an eyebrow at him and he rolls his eyes, then yawns, and while his mouth is gaping wide open I grab his pen from the table and poke it in his mouth.

He chokes and sputters and I burst out laughing, not even dodging away from his fully justified kick to my leg under the table.

"Dick," he hisses and I chuckle, not paying any attention whatsoever to the smile lighting up Elena's face.

I ignore it adamantly for the next five minutes as everyone else comes in the room, sitting in their seats.

"Good morning," Jeremy says from the front of the room to call us to attention, and the chatter settles down. "So, as you may have noticed since you're all here and not on the floor taking calls," he says and winks, "we have you guys booked into a training session today. Now, this should take us until about eight o'clock this evening, and possibly a little bit of time tomorrow morning, depending on how smoothly it goes."

I bite my cheeks to contain my snort, but Ric lets his live out in the open.

"So," Jeremy continues, "during our last round of employee surveys, we heard a lot from y'all in Claims Reporting about what you need so you're able to help our customers to the best of your ability." He pauses and leans back against the desk in the front of the room, and it's all for dramatic effect. "And one of those things was empowering you with the ability to arrange for a rental car for our customers during the first notice of loss."

The room erupts in cheers, and I chuckle. It really has been something that we've been begging for the power to do for many years. That way the customers will hopefully bitch less since they're getting what they want, and that'll make our professional lives slightly more tolerable. It's just taken a long time for the company to fine tune the process through the legal department because of state regulations and the fact that we're not licensed adjusters, but it looks like persistence and loud, whiny nagging found a way.

"That's right, guys," Jeremy tells them proudly. "You asked for it, and we're going to deliver. Now, this is going to be a little complicated, although we're confident that you guys are going to master this. And it's going to entail a lot of delving into the world of policy contracts and determining coverage as well as an introduction to the software system you'll be using to actually arrange the rental through our affiliates…"

A grumble swells through the room because yeah, that's the fine print. A _ninth_ software system which translates to more passwords and more glitches.

"But all in good time. First," Jeremy grins and I swallow, "instead of having to listen to my lovely voice drone on and on and on for the rest of the day," he says and everyone laughs, "I'm going to turn you over to one of your own, and he is going to be leading y'all through the training."

Ric glances at me, and because I didn't tell him shit, I arch an eyebrow at him.

"Damon?" Jeremy says like an invitation and I stand, pushing in my chair before I take my first steps towards the front of the room.

I catch the sound of Ric chuckling under his breath and Elena sucking in hers, and my pulse is a little quicker than I'd like. But then again I've got at least forty pairs of eyes all following me, and I can't get out of my head the way Elena's eyes were glistening when she realized I baked those damn muffins for her. And that's the last thing I need to be thinking about when I'm staring down ten hours of being in front of a room full of my peers and boss and ex-girlfriend, teaching them a whole bunch of complicated shit that took me six hours to figure out last Wednesday when Jeremy trained me one-on-one.

The whispered word from his cubicle Tuesday morning was that one of our trainers is going to resign in a couple of months because she's moving out of state, and Jeremy and his manager are willing to overlook the fact that I don't have a degree because of my tenure with the company. They are also generously letting this serve as part of my interview process. So while learning this stuff is a big deal for everyone else, if I pull this off, it's going to save my life as I know it.

Because if I can somehow manage to answer any questions Elena throws at me about determining coverage eligibility for arranging a rental car, while ignoring the knowledge that she's got a clear plug in her tongue and that she looks like a goddess during sunset, then voila! No more Auto In button for me and I'll be permanently working a lot farther than four feet away from her. I'll be spending my days in a room like this one, teaching freshly-hired groups of people how to take claims and after six weeks, they'll hit the floor and I'll get a new class. Not to mention this is gonna be one _hefty_ bump for my pay grade.

I reach the front of the room and Jeremy clasps my hand with a grin, then claps me on the shoulder with his other before going to sit in the back where he'll be monitoring me for the duration. Along with _his_ boss and yeah, it looks like there's also the supervisor from the other team and another that I know I've seen around, but I can't remember her name.

Yeah, no pressure.

I lean casually back against the desk in the front of the room and do a quick sweep over everyone, making sure I've got all eyes on me, and I can't quite figure out Elena's expression. Maybe because she's flipping through emotions at Mach 3 and I'm seeing glimpse of nerves and surprise and embarrassment and guilt and I think I saw pride, but I doubt it.

"Good morning," I drawl with a wide smile and hear forty-plus voices return the same, one distinguishing itself from the rest, but probably only to me. "I need everyone to stand up, please."

They all kind of glance at each other and then do as I ask, watching me curiously.

Once everyone is standing I push off from the desk I'm leaning against. "Raise your right hands," I say seriously and they mimic me as I hold up my own like I'm about to swear an oath. "Now, make a fist…" I tell them and a few people laugh, Ric rolling his eyes and I can tell that Elena is smiling at me warmly, but I'm not looking at her.

Okay, that's a lie.

I wrench my focus to another person in the room, and my grin widens. "Now, repeat after me: _hallelujah!"_ I exclaim dramatically and fist pump, and after they all laugh, they eventually do as I embarrassingly requested.

Not that any of them realize that we're cheering about two separate things.

"Alright, you guys can sit down," I chuckle and walk around the desk to the massive white board, picking up a marker. "For any of you that somehow do _not_ have the pleasure of knowing my name, I am Damon Salvatore," I say and write it on the board. "But," I drawl and turn back around, "feel free to call me Your Grace, Your Highness, O Fearless Leader or whatever else may tickle your fancy over the next ten hours. Just don't call me Precious," I say and visibly shiver, "or baby, because my mom may cut you. She's got dibs."

I smirk as everyone snickers and chuckles, and when I can't stop myself from checking, I find Elena beaming: her chin propped in her hand and all of her attention pointed directly at me.

I almost wink at her, but then I remember, and I don't.

I turn back to the board and start writing out a whole bunch of brainless, technical shit, and yeah, this is gonna be a long goddamn day.

* * *

**A/N: See you guys next chapter. Stay safe and be kind to one another. **

**-Goldnox**


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